


Miss Me?

by flowerheadfreak



Series: The Gift of Magic [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Antiva, Denerim, F/M, Orlais
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerheadfreak/pseuds/flowerheadfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been some time after the Blight ended, but where did all the love go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

She's gone

He tried to forget her, to discard her from his memories just as he'd done with every bed partner he's had. But she was never a bed partner, she was his life, his beloved, even if he wouldn't admit it.  Another love, gone, dead. _Poof_.  Her death had forever hardened him, and he promised himself he would never love again.

Zevran took a sip of his brandy, forgetting he had a glass of wine intertwined between his fingers, watching the fire blaze in the hearth.

 _"I asked for you to show me how to sneak around all stealthy-like, not for a tongue battle, you animal," she murmured, rolling her eyes lightly. How different she was after he’d given her the earring, how patient she was to let him sort out his feelings, and yet she continued to play her little ‘hard-to-get’ game. He only chuckled and pressed her on the cold bricks of the exterior of the Redcliffe castle underneath the oak tree, and kissed her passionately again. She gasped away from the lock of his lips, looking straight into his amber eyes, running her fingers along the lines of the tattoos on his face. He couldn’t resist her, she was the only one who played along with his façade,_ _the only one who stayed flippant in dire times.  He dove for another kiss._

Anger raged through his body causing him to throw the wine glass fiercely at the fire and watch it rage with him.  Why didn't she take him with her? Why didn't she let him protect her when she needed it? Why didn’t he insist, like he always had? It didn't matter, not anymore. She was dead now, he knew it when he saw the blinding ray of light burst from the Fort Drakon where he stood at the city gates.  He didn't stay long enough for Alistair's heroic return only to find that she wasn't with him.

"Something wrong?" he heard behind him.  He turned to find his new bed partner, just as small and beautiful as Arabelle had been.  She was a thin little thing, with olive skin the same shade hers had been, the same dark hair folded up into a bun, revealing her pointed ears.  The only difference were the eyes; this imposter had emerald-colored eyes, not the same as the playful brown she had.  This woman who stood before him, she could never take her place.  She might have been strong, a fellow Crow, but she was boring, predictable, she did not have the same element of surprise, or the melodious laugh he so missed.

"No," he snapped, annoyed that he let his nonchalant mask falter. Turning to face her, he felt the urge to violently rip her clothes from her body, and feel the warmth of her neck beneath his tongue.  But he knew, this person was not Arabelle, this person here, no matter how he made love to her, it wouldn't be _her_.   _She_ would never be his.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

"You still think he'll come back?" he asked, extending a comforting hand on her shoulder briefly.  Her black slender brows furrowed together, her dark eyes focusing on the unnoticeable crack on the marble floor.

 _“In truth, for the chance to be by your side I would storm the Dark City itself. Never doubt it.”_

"Yes," she answered bluntly, still staring at the small crevice in the royal foyer floor.  The crack there, it was making the palace imperfect, it made her want to scream, to hit whoever made the floor very hard with her staff. Her fury had to be directed at something, anything, just not her friend. It wasn't Alistair's fault that Zevran left her.

"It's been a couple of months now, so wherever he went, he's not coming back, I don't think," he said carefully, he didn’t want her to be unhappy but she needed it.  She appreciated his outright honesty and turned around to face his worried expression.  She wasn't herself, he'd noticed. Everyone had.  She’d lost the joyous gleam in her eyes, the color of her skin had missing its warm cinnamon-like color, leaving just a pale light brown. She fiddled with the small gold chain bound on her neck. She missed him terribly, though she would never say it out loud.

The fact that he broke his promise, that he lied to her, it was like a slap in the face, a slap with metal gloves with glass bits embedded in them.  She was too proud let herself be slapped in the face. She deserved respect, she is the Hero of Ferelden.

"Then maybe I’ll go to him instead."

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

The ship docked into the Antivan harbor and all she thought of was how this place was so unlike any she’d seen before.  Even the royal palace in Ferelden was nowhere near comparable to this place.  She wobbled off the boat, trying to lose the sea-legs she’d gained within the first few hours after they sailed away, and devoured the magnificence of the city in a single glimpse. This place was worth the weeks she spent at sea.

Antiva City was as marvelous as he said it would be.  The architecture was extravagant; buildings were aging like fine wine, miniature gates were placed on the ledges of bridges, bridges that hovered over river-streets. Homes were adorned with bright, large candles encased in glass lamps, and the lights would be reflected off of the rivers when dusk hit the city. Vines were growing on buildings, any roads were made with white stone. Beauty like she'd never seen before.

Where he could possibly be, she didn’t know.  She only knew if she was going to find him, it would be here.  If only someone could direct her to the nearest Crow building.

For now, she had to settle in a nearby inn.  With the gold she’d saved up over the months, she could afford a luxurious suite, but she had to lay low.  She tended to spark the interest of dominant figures, but she only sought the attention of one in particular.

“We don’t get many Fereldan visitors,” the fat innkeeper said with a heavy accent as she walked into the small building.  His voice struck her immediately, the memory of _his_ voice lingered in her mind.

“How did you know I’m Fereldan?” she asked curiously, turning her head at the chunky landlord.

“You reek of, how you say?-wet dog,” he answered plainly, chuckling at his own words.  She took a deliberate whiff of her robes and smiled in fondness lightheartedly, allowing him to choke on his rippling laughter.

“Thanks,” Arabelle said, “I just _love_ when people appreciate my delicious scent.”

His projecting stomach shook in amusement and he directed her to the closest room.  She would settle here for the night, and tomorrow, she would continue her search.  Zevran wouldn’t escape her impending storm, not this time.

But not before a quick bath, of course, the landlord wasn’t kidding.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

“Master,” the young human boy uttered, embarrassed he’d walked in on Zevran and his mistress again.

“What?” Zevran asked, biting at the woman’s-Millicent was her name-lip.  He’d chuckled inconspicuously when he saw from the corner of his eye that the boy’s face paled in complete trauma.  The things she would say, were she here.

 _"You, my friend, are utterly shameless."_

 _She pulled away after he tugged off a ribbon from her robes. He wanted her, he wanted to caress her bare body like he knew no one had before, to show her what she'd been missing._

 _"Why so shy, dear Arabelle?"_

 _"Why **not** so shy? Unlike you," she poked him with her finger, "I happen to like my privacy. Anything that goes on in this room can be heard from fifteen feet away." It was true, the Redcliffe castle walls were surprisingly hollow._

 _"And?" he challenged._

 _Teasing eyes flitting, she smirked at him._

 _"And I know it drives you crazy," she played, "especially when I kiss you...here." She kissed behind his ear and then nibbled softly on his earlobe._

 _"Oh, you are a temptress, my good woman," he purred in her ear._

 _"Mm, ha, I know. You'll never have your way with me," she teased, pulling away again to prove her point. "I am not like other women."_

He pushed Millicent away and gave his full attention to the boy.  He couldn't handle the memories, he needed something else to get his mind off her.

"Several Crows disappeared today, they never reported back to me," the boy said, trying to sound as professional as he could.

Disappeared? Taking a break on the job, most likely.  No, the boy's face is worried, it's more serious. Were they dead, possibly?

"What do you mean they disappeared?"

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

She left the inn when the morning daylight kissed the lands of the city.  Antiva City was too marvelous to ignore, she decided to first wander into the markets, eager to see any exotic merchandise she could maybe take home to show Wynne, who stayed to help Alistair in his rule.

She walked into a humble tailoring shop and after two hours walked back out with a burgundy dress embroidered with gold thread tied to red robes. She was to be unrecognizable if he saw her.

"Is he going to be a problem?" a raspy voice said, coming from a dark alley.

"No, I hired two assassins to take care of it."

 _Assassin…?_

Pretending to be waiting for someone, she leaned against the wall nearby the alley, eavesdropping with her hood pulled over her face. Her favorite way to disguise herself.

"A Crow?-how remarkably ironic of you, friend. But aren't they expensive? And impossible to find for people like us?"

"I found them at Sun Dragon Tavern the other day. And don't worry about the cost," the man laughed, "I used his money to pay for his own death, he’ll never see it coming."

That was a lucky lead.  She removed herself from the scene before anyone knew she was even there.

 _Sun Dragon Tavern...wherever that is. I'll find a Crow there, they'll make an excellent little messenger. Let's see...tailor shop, blacksmith...this wouldn't be so difficult if I didn't have to cross a stupid bridge every step I take!-Ah, there it is._

She entered as if she owned the place. The tavern smelled of a brewery mixed with blood and vomit, she didn't belong there, she knew.  She saw it in the men's intrigued faces as she strode across the tavern taking a seat next to the bartender.  The knives and daggers were clearly visible as men smiled at her presence. 

Nope, no danger here.

"Well well well, look what we've got here.  A prostitute, no doubt. Tell me, how much will it be, sweetheart?"

She turned in her seat to find a dark-haired human and his lackeys grinning beside her. She laughed. They were barking up the wrong deadly sylvan tree, but she hit the jackpot. Crows.

"Oh please,” she rolled her eyes with disgust, letting ruthless hostility touch her next sentence."Put that dagger away before you hurt yourself, fool...or before _I_ hurt you. Whichever comes first."

"Oh, I do so love a feisty one," he smiled an ugly toothy grin at his friends, reaching towards her, his intentions obvious. In a swift motion, she pulled the dagger from her boot and pierced it into the man's disgusting hand, trapping it to the table.  He let out a bloodcurdling scream, red seeped from the edges of the new hole in his hand, piling up at the edges of the blade until it spread on the rest of his hand.

"You _bitch_!" he cried, struggling to free himself. His astonished friends stood, mouths agape, and before they could even draw their swords, she assaulted their bodies. Their torsos were the targets, and she pulled at their heat, instantaneously boiling them alive with their own blood, killing them.  She sat down again, her lips near the man’s ear.

"You listen, and listen good. I know you're a Crow, I know who you work for. Tell him I sent you, and tell him I am coming for him too," she growled lowly, this message was for his ears only. "If he doesn’t show himself here tonight, I will take my sweet time killing each and every _Pigeon_ until I find him." She pulled the dagger from the table, ignoring the man's scream of agony and walked out of the tavern.  A snicker went through her teeth, she stayed up all last night perfecting that threat.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

"Zevran!" a raspy voice called from the hallway leading to his quarters. "Zevran, there is a threat to the Crows, here in the city," the man forced out, gripping his hand after pushing the young boy out of his way.

"Elias, why do you have a hole in your hand?" he asked, laughing.

The man squeezed his hand in anguish, trying to smother the pain away and ignored Zevran’s contemptuous tone.  Everyone was a victim to his criticizing.

"The woman, she killed the others, she knows who you are.  She's demanded that you show yourself," he said quickly, still clutching his hand.  Zevran stood unsurprised, many had tried to murder him in cold-blood before, but he’d bested them through quick wit and agility, making him almost impossible to kill.  To assassinate the master assassin, one must be amazingly skilled.  Or so he thought.

Turning to face the fire licking the top of the hearth, he waved in Elias’ direction, wordlessly ordering someone to tend his wounds.  Who could want him?  Did they not know what dangers lie before them, should they seek him out?  Perhaps this woman was more imprudent than powerful.

“A woman bested you _and_ your companions?”

“A mage, Master Zevran.”

 _Ah a mage…an apostate perhaps?  Now why would an apostate seek me out?_

Obviously, more powerful than he initially thought.  He could use a mage on his side.  Or as his new plaything.  He was growing tired of Millicent and her dull personality.

“This woman…did she say where she wanted to find me?” he asked, not turning away from the fire.

“She wants to find you at the Sun Dragon Tavern, tonight.”

“Then we shall indulge her,” he smiled, “If she wishes to see the supremacy of the Crows, then let her see it.”

This mage was too interesting to pass up if she could so easily scare his people.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

The threat she sent to him, she knew it draw him out.  He was always curious about people who spoke with implicit authority, who could drive terror into a person’s very soul.  

She had no doubt he would bring others with him, he was not stupid.

 _Well, he might possibly **be** stupid if he thought he could just leave me without explanation._

She returned to the tavern, hood swept over her face.  She wanted to see for herself how he fared over the twenty-something months after he left her.  She wanted to see him without granting him a good look of her face.  Trickery was going to be her best friend tonight.

The robes she wore were open down the middle, revealing the burgundy dress she’d bought earlier that day.  Beauty was also his weakness, he would think twice before attempting to kill a woman who donned clothes that belonged to a noble, even if she was a mage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll add in different POVs, this one's Zevran's. Don't get confused.

“Millicent.”

He called her name as if he had just met her, determined to be cruel.  She didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes?”

“You are good with stealth, yes?  You are coming tonight,” he said harshly.  She nodded once and followed him out of the guild house along with several others.  He decided that she was going to take the risk of hiding the closest to the mage.  She was expendable.

He neared the tavern, signaling the others to position themselves with a single brush of his gold hair.  They moved silently, entering through the back of the tavern.  They wore all black, making it easier for them to disappear in the shadows.

He entered with a swagger, and almost immediately he noticed a hooded woman-or girl, even when she sat he could see she was terribly short- in red sitting at a table in the corner with her arms crossed.  Her whole body was covered, save her delicious neck, which was adorned with a simple chain necklace that was weighted down by something that hid beneath the neckline of her dress.

His mind wandered, wondering what might lie beneath the silk of the dress.  It would be a waste to kill her.

With a courteous smile, he nodded to her, but she didn’t respond.  She merely watched him glide over to her table cautiously from underneath the guise of her hood.  He noticed that only they occupied the tavern, even the bartender was gone.  How interesting, her aura was confident, even when faced with someone like him.  Someone who could rip her apart.  _Could_ , but he wasn’t going to.  He had uses for such a person.

“So here I am, as you requested.  I was surprised by your method of capturing my notice, you could have just written a letter, my dear,” he started, trying to lower her guard before he would strike.

“Zevran.  Delightful as always,” she murmured, her defenses not faltering.  Something about her voice was familiar, but her voice was hard.  If she were to talk softly, to laugh…maybe…  This was enough to stop him from coming closer.  How exactly did she know his name?  Maybe he owed her money.  He did gamble a lot.

“So, was there some specific reason why I was brought here?”

"Do I need a reason to talk to such a charming man?"

Confusion puzzled his expression. That phrase sounded oddly familiar.

“I don't know how you know me so well, but I consider it quite flattering,” he answered flirtatiously, grinning.

She snorted softly, her chin jutted upward angrily.  Suddenly she pushed the table away. Standing up from the chair, one arm bent to her side, fingers extending from her hands, her other arm stabbed the space above her.  He didn’t know what she was doing until the wooden floor of the tavern glowed a blue pattern, and he realized he was paralyzed.

Even incapacitated, his eyes widened in bewilderment.  She’d outsmarted him.  She calculated his every step, and retaliated without trouble before he could even begin to follow through with his plan. He now realized that anyone other than herself who was standing in this room would be paralyzed as well.

“Clever, an ambush. I never saw that coming, oh _no_ ,” she taunted, weeding out the hidden assassins out with an unseen force. "What's the matter, Zevran?  You're losing your touch of unpredictability."

He was impressed by her strategies, her undeniable power. This would be his second time feeling completely helpless.  It was too dark to see the face she concealed underneath that hood, but her voice...the way she carried herself...her small stature.

 _It cannot be...!_


	3. Chapter 3

Arabelle was toying with him, she knew that. She was playing cat and mouse, and now that she's captured her prey, she's going to mess with her food. Tracing his shoulder with her gloved finger, she chuckled at the way he raised his brow.

She scanned the right side of the tavern, where she'd drawn out the rest of Zevran's mindless minions, her eyes stopped on Millicent.

 _What th-!_

"Ho-ly...shivering sheep," she gasped under her breath. Who was she? She could've been her sister for all Arabelle knew.  Same ebony-colored hair, same color skin, same small build.  What the hell is going on?

The girl opened her eyes in rage.  Envious green eyes. That was the difference. She shot her head back to Zevran, eyes narrowing with chagrin.  There’s nothing like the feeling of utter betrayal.  It doesn’t take a genius to know what he was doing with her.

"This is the reason you've been staying here?"

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Arabelle. She wasn't dead, she's alive, and she's here.

Old feelings of adoration and admiration attacked him.  After all these months of trying to forget, all the memories flooded back into his brain, but stronger, arousing his sensual yearnings.

But she was yelling at him.  He couldn't hear her, he was distracted for she un-hooded herself, her face almost unrecognizable.  Her face had hardened, she no longer possessed the soft face of a 19-year-old girl. Her lustrous wavy hair was loose from its traditional bun, flowing past her shoulder blades, framing her face.  She’d even grown an inch or two.  She was still divine, she was still his Arabelle.

All he could do was stare like an idiotic goat.  But how had she survived? 

Reality brought itself back down hard on him.

"I can't believe you would...without...," her beautiful face, sorrowful, melancholy, rare, but still lovely all the same.  "I made a mistake, coming here."

She plucked the chain from her neck and dropped it at Zevran's feet, leaving the tavern without looking back.  The earring.  The bond that held them together, even while he was gone.  The bond he felt break as the earring crashed to the floor.

 _"Such a curious place to wear an earring," he chuckled, fingering her necklace._

 _"Well, if I wore it on one of my ears, the other ear would feel jealous. And that would be very unfair," she answered as a matter-of-factly, wiggling her ears. Even with all the experience in the world, she still squeezed in time to be as silly as possible._

 _"Ah, yes. We can't have two ears bickering over an earring, that would just be sinful, no?" he laughed, pulling her closer to him._

 _"Sinful is you trying to disrobe me when I'm going over the battle plans. Shame on you. Leave at once, man-minx. Shoo!"_

She was gone.

But this time, he wasn't going to let her walk out of his life again, not this time.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

She felt her heart breaking, her hopes falling in despair.  How did she _not_ see this coming?

Running from the tavern; it was on impulse, she should've stayed, should've demanded for an explanation, but she didn't. She ran because she didn't want him to see tears flood her strong, stubborn face. She didn't want to show weakness, but even underneath all the hatred she bore for him now, underneath all her misery, she still loved him, and she still cared about what he thought of her.

Leaving all belongings behind except the clothes on her back and the gold-filled purse strapped to her waist, she jumped on the nearest exporting ship.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

"Oiy! We've got ourselves a stowaway!" she heard a rough voice yell. She was sitting by the cargo, her knees bent upward and wrapped by her arms.

"Aye, it seems we do...Maker, it's a sodding elf!  An elf _woman_!  Do you know what they say about females on boats?" another with a hat said, pointing his meaty finger at her.

She rose to her feet, pride touching the gleam of her eyes.  She refused to be thrown off, especially when they hadn't even sailed away yet.  The ship rocked underneath her, but still she held her head high.

"Bad luck!" he answered himself, sneering at her.

Her grace wavered not as he glared at her, waiting for a reason not to throw her overboard.

"My good man, what is the name of this ship?" she asked.  The pride of a sailor was the boat he sailed on.  This provided some extra time.

"It's called the Maid of Orlais, but I don't see how that concerns you."

"A maid. So as I understand, this ship would be female too, right?"

"Don't sass me, girl. You're still a stowaway!" he said, flustered.

"Would ten sovereigns change your mind? ...Please?" she asked, anywhere was better than Antiva.  _Anywhere_.

The red-bearded man's thick brow twitched in consideration.

"Yes, I suppose. But that doesn't get you a cabin, elf,” the carrot topped man spat, then ordering his men to set sail.  As he walked away, he didn’t fail to shoot her a glare that meant that he would throw her over, should she give him a good reason. 

Ah, so she'd been bartering with the captain…a very elf-hating captain.  An elf-hating captain who had no idea who he was talking to.

 _That’s right, he is talking to the Hero of Ferelden._

“How long 'til we get to...wherever we're going?” she asked a sailor who was rushing by her to pull at the sails.

"A couple weeks until we hit the mainland.”  She would be pushing her luck if she asked…but what was life without risks?  Especially when she had nothing to lose.

“Heading to Ferelden soon too?”

“Yes, I believe so,” the young sailor said, multitasking.

She smiled at the captain as he positioned himself near the steer, leaving him feeling patronized, and walked about the deck. 

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

He had to track her down but he had no idea where she would go. Pacing back and forth across his quarters, he contemplated of where she could be. She could be quite impulsive at times, perhaps she would go elsewhere, take her time getting to Ferelden.  When she got back, he would be waiting.  He had no doubt she would avoid him at all costs however, but he didn’t care.  He could only imagine what she would say about his return, something among, _Son of a bickering woman!-_ or something of the like. 

Money wasn’t an issue to get back to Ferelden, though he was missing a few sovereigns.  Damned pickpockets, he could’ve used that for his next brothel visit.  He took a few steps toward the exit of the guild house from his quarters. __

“And might I ask where you’re going?” the overly-confident girl asked.  Jade eyes flashed at him.  He wanted so badly to answer “NO, you _cannot_ ask where I’m going.” This girl was far too complacent with Arabelle’s reaction, her immediate departure, and he wanted the satisfaction of seeing the arrogant shine in her eyes dull like life flickering away from the eyes of someone he’d just killed. 

“I am leaving. As exciting as you are in bed, my Millicent, you are too smothering for my tastes.”

Surprisingly, her expression didn’t change.  She only smiled wickedly in response, her fingers curling into fists.

“Zevran, at least let me give you my love before you leave.”

A hand reaching out to him, he jerked away, feeling his skin recoil before she could even touch him.  She looked softer than she’d ever had before, but he felt something insisting him to leave.  Now.

He refused her advances callously, “No, leave me be.” he snarled.  He pushed past her to leave, but someone moved towards the doorway, blocking him.

“Leaving so soon, _Master_ Zevran?”

 _Elias?_

A quiet _clank_ , a sudden _thud_ rang in his ears. Swiftly, he turned to dodge Millicent’s impending slice of her twin daggers by dodging her, but he wasn’t fast enough!  Her precision was off but nevertheless, a dagger pierced through his bicep as easily as it would with butter.  “Argh!” he growled.

He jerked his arm back toward him, ignoring the howling pain his muscle screamed, only hearing the soft splash each drop of his blood would make as it hit the wooden floor.  A week ago, he would’ve laughed in the face of mutiny, daring it to kill him savagely like he knew he deserved.  He wasn’t afraid of death, but now he wouldn’t let it happen, not now, not after _she_ reappeared like a flash of lightning.

Millicent was now standing nearby the doorway Elias, who had somehow pulled out a bow with ready arrows, eager for bloodshed.  They tried cornering him, a duo of lions about to strike their prey. 

Elias shot the first arrow, whipping by Zevran’s ear, then another and another until one reached the flesh of Zevran’s shoulder. Snapping the butt of the arrow off, Zevran lunged at the nearest dagger, which was sitting on the floor next to an empty brandy bottle, and wasted no time as he threw it with his good arm with exact aim at Millicent’s throat.

He didn’t hear her gurgle while slowly dying, he didn’t hear Elias’ loud curse, he only saw blood.  Blood he so wished to draw from the sole person who stood between him and Arabelle.

He drew the dagger from her neck, spinning back around to face Elias.  Watching his face fall, Zevran barked out with mocking laughter.

“Usually I’m careful to not get blood all over me, but I’ll make an exception this time.”

He didn’t wait for his response, and before Elias could retort, he’d already sank his blade into Elias’ _other_ hand, disabling him from any further arrow-shooting before pulling it back out. The dark-haired man dropped his bow and sprung backward, tripping over his feet.

Zevran rushed over, grabbing the man by his short hair, and pressed the edge of the dagger to his throat.  He was going to enjoy this.

“This is your final lesson, Elias.  I am the master for a reason,” he said lowly.

He watched as gleam of life fled the crystalline blue eyes, leaving behind black shells.  He listened to his last breath; labored, panicked, heavy.  And he savored the excitement of the kill as he was taught so long ago to do.  No one was going to stop him.


	4. Chapter 4

It had only been three weeks, but it felt like a lifetime.The Free Marches let them pass through the entrance of the Waking Sea. They’d passed Ferelden, she knew it when she could smell its distinctive canine aroma, and they were nearing Orlais. They also had their own scent, floral perfumes filled her nose, and she scrunched up her nose in revulsion, the scent made her nostrils itch.Normally she wouldn’t mind, but it was like these people rolled in perfume lakes every evening.

“Land-ho!”

They reached the docks of Val Royeaux, it was a quaint place, not as marvelous as Antiva City was.The rich nobles pranced about away from the docks, obviously afraid to get their poofy trousers wet.They disgusted her, how were you supposed to enjoy life when you are bound inside a cage of clothes?

Her mind wandered back to her troubles.

 __

 _Had I caged him?Did he feel like I was trying to tame him?-Which I wasn’t I swear.He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who’d want a commitment…with his uncontrollable sexual desires and what not._

 __

She rolled her eyes, remembering the day before she slew the archdemon, and then she smiled fondly.He wasn’t willing to let her out of his grasp, so what had changed?

He did.He changed.And there was nothing she could do, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault but hers.She should’ve known he wouldn’t have wanted someone like her, someone unwilling to allow anyone to “spoil her goods” as Zevran once called it.

"You!"

She turned, knowing exactly who the bearded man was referring to.

"It will be awhile until we set sail again, elf.You are welcome leave the ship."

Before she could answer, the captain left, quickly it seemed.After the few weeks they spent together, he still couldn't manage to make friends? What a dope, she thought carelessly.

She walked slowly off the boat, watching the sophisticated nobles watch her in absolute loathing.They didn't like her either, her clothes were simply not in fashion anymore.

"Wcho arrre you to wachk aebout with those clothes, elf-garl? Did you ssteale them off the boh- _dy_ of a no-belle?" one hissed with the thickest accent she’s ever heard as she neared an inn.

 _What??_   
  
__

Oh, how she hated their accents, it sounded like they had irremovable toad stuck in their throats.She smiled mischievously at them.

"Yes I did, she was almost as pretty as you," she answered, "It's a shame no one ever saw her face again..."

Their eyes widened in fear and hurried away, flapping their fans like nervous chickens.

 __

 _Stupid prissy Orlesian nobles._

 __

She felt no need to explore the lands if it meant mingling with those condescending self-absorbed idiots.Even nobles back in Ferelden were nicer than these people.Instead she lazed around, writing letters to her surrogate grandmother and the king, hoping they would reach them before her return.

The next week, they sailed away, their course heading for Ferelden.She rather missed the smell of mabari, and she would distract herself with court issues, promising herself she would never speak of Zevran again.Yes, that would be her resolution.Time heals all wounds.

She was still cabin-less, and the captain was still inexplicably hostile to her, but she’d made friends with the first mate.He was harsh at first, mirroring the captain’s behavior, but eventually warming up to her; he offered her his own bed, suggesting he take her place sleeping on the hard wooden floors. She graciously refused, she didn’t need such charity.At least someone on that ship made is bearable.

Another week crawled by, she was sick of the endless oceans, and she cried out with joy when she smelled the familiar scent of Ferelden.It wasn’t so bad, not when it’s the smell of home.They docked near Denerim, passing the rocky coastlands of Amaranthine.

She rushed off the wooden piece of horror after waving a goodbye to the first mate, and made her way to Denerim.Wynne and Alistair would cheer her up, well not Wynne because she'll probably scold her for her sudden vacation and then shove an ‘I told you so’ in her face once the old woman would start speaking of Zevran.

Morrigan should've stayed, she could've distracted Wynne with her argumentative attitude while Arabelle escaped.But alas, she’s off somewhere…mothering a child.The image of the Witch of the Wilds _nurturing_ a child…that was probably the joke of the day, a smile curled on Arabelle’s lips.

Dirt roads welcomed her back to Denerim, and she made her way back to the palace, more slowly with each step.She stopped when she reached the area Taliesen attacked her.

 __

 _He was bleeding profusely, sucking in breaths as if it could be his last.Wynne's hands glowed a holy white, his pierced skin melding back together to her touch.She kneeled next to him, impatiently demanding Wynne to be hastier.He looked at her from where he lay before he fell unconscious, his eyes filled with longing and tranquility.Her ability to speak, gone, an overwhelming feeling unknown to her flowed through her body, silencing her thoughts._

 __

She continued onward, the memory angering her. She'd unwittingly thought of him, and that was interfering with her plans to move on. It was true; things were easier said than done.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Entering through the secret kitchen back door, she tip-toed across the great hall, decorated with rugs rich in familiar warm colors, crying out _HOME_ to her.The interior of the palace was asleep, she arrived very late in the midnight. Quietly heading up the grand stairway to the chambers Alistair generously gave her months ago, she decided her first act of coming home would be changing into comfortable clothes. She was going to wear loose tunics for the rest of her life, tight dresses weren't treating her well, especially since she wore the same one for weeks. Suddenly a voice broke the silence, immediately shocking her in place.

  
"Still sneaking about, my dear? Perhaps I should give you more lessons...you seem to respond well to my teaching techniques."  


  
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~  


Dread?  Yes, that’s the word she was looking for.  How could Alistair let this rat scuttle around his castle?  If she wanted him, she would’ve brought the rat herself.

"You always had great timing."

Fury was making its way to her fists, her stance, and her expression.

"Yes, it's true.  I live a very punctual life, wouldn't you agree?"

Back still facing him, she spoke again, but with more of a bitter edge in her whisper.

"Not very convenient, if you ask me.  What are you doing here?"

She refused to face him, knowing full well of what would happen.  Swooning at the sight of him, she expected, or perhaps she would strangle him instead, it wouldn't be very hard to finish the job she should've completed that day they met on the West Roads.  But she didn't want to wake the entire castle, this is a private matter-a private matter she wished was so exclusive that she herself wasn’t involved. Yet here stood the elf, handing her an invitation in a place he wasn't even invited to.

"Such a harsh tone. Morrigan would be proud."

"She would be extremely proud if she knew what I'd like to do to you."

"…Do you need any rope for that?"

That did it. She whirled around, hands ready to squeeze the life out of the nearest neck, only to realize he was invading her personal space, stopping her immediately.  Her skin cried out to him, the electricity of his closeness urged her to dig her mouth into his.  No, no, no, that wasn’t going to happen.  Her heart was not a toy for child's play.

"This isn't some sort of kinky thing! What's the matter with you?! Can't answer a simple question?-without whoring off to find some prostitute to wrap around your-"

"Shhh, you are going to wake the whole castle!-well if they are not already awake by the stench, I'm sorry to say but...you reek," he interrupted lightly, knowing full well about her sensitivity of being stinky.  Sour irony bit her tongue.

“You better shut that hole in your face before I kill you.”

  

  1. Zevran was winning by one in the “Heartbreak Game.”   
  



“We better take this outside before you get blood all over these nice rugs.”

“And here I thought we were going outside so that you could show me how much you missed me,” he said, his mouth tugging upward in amusement.  He was trying to fluster her, she knew that he enjoyed it when she huffed up and stomped her foot.  Not this time, this is all serious business, he had changed, so now it was her turn.

A sigh escaped her lips.  Doubt crept into her mind as made her way towards the kitchen and slipped out the doorway, Zevran following a step behind her.  Change is a funny thing, it happens when you least expect it, and it happens so often.  Did he really change? He seems like the same old inappropriate Zevran with a mouth that just doesn’t shut up- or can’t keep its lips to itself.

The fresh night breeze brushed her face, exactly what she needed.  The cold weather would keep her behavior just that. _Cold_.

“Why did you come here?” she said cruelly, turning around to face him.  A mixture of lust and revulsion surged through her, but then imaginings sprawled across her mind.  The taint of _her_ lips still lingering in unspeakable places.  Only feelings of revulsion remained.

 _Disgusting._

She watched him gaze at her with an amused glimmer in his eye while she pinched her face in disgust.

“I have an oath to you, remember?”

“Funny, you didn’t seem to remember that while you were in Antiva living it up with some harlot.  You should’ve stayed there because there is nothing for you here…. ** _nothing_** _,”_ she snarled, spitting the last word out without remorse.  His face dropped in seriousness.

“Arabelle,” he said, all humor leaving his voice, “I thought you were dead.”

 _Dead? …….. **Dead**?!_

She stabbed her finger in his chest accusingly, “Was that wishful thinking, Zevran? How dare you think I was dead?! Maybe you wouldn’t have thought so if _you didn’t run the first chance you got!”_

He slapped her hand away angrily, finally letting ferocity bite into his voice.  Defiance flashed across his face as he growled back in a low voice, “You think I ran because I wanted to? That Grey Warden, Riordan- he told me what you planned to do, he told me that you planned to sacrifice yourself.  What did you expect me to do?”

“You could’ve waited, you could’ve-” a gigantic lump planted itself in her throat, a lump that was friends with the bitter tears trailing down to her cheeks.  “No!  J-just go, the damage has already been done.  Go back to where you came from, I don’t want you here.”

She pushed past him, making her way back into the castle to finally be rid of the pest that was ruining her life. 

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

How could someone so tiny be so ferocious?  How could this petite woman bite like a pack of wolves all rolled into one?  He wouldn’t let her walk by him as if she never knew him, no, that was not what he came here for.  But what had he honestly expected? -For her to rush back into his arms like a wife would to her husband who just returned from war? 

Yes. 

Obviously he didn’t know her well enough.  He watched as the heavy door creaked open slowly, not ten inches away from him.

 _Slam!_

He pressed her against the door he shut with her body, his front digging forcefully into her back.  His hands found their way to her upper arms, trapping her to him, and twisted her around to face him.  His next course of action?  Hot angry breath slapped his neck, her hands on his chest to push him away-he insolently forced his mouth against hers. 

She still felt something, he knew by the _zap_ of his lips upon hers, she didn’t pull away at first.

Then her body stiffened against his. “Get off me!”

“Hey!  What’s going on here?”

Zevran loosened his grip on Arabelle, and they both looked at the armored guard like forbidden teenagers caught kissing in the dark.  Opportunity taken.  She escaped his arms before he knew it.

“Ah, my lady.  The king told me to expect your return…is this a... _companion_ you brought with you?” A smile could be heard behind the silverite helmet of his.

“Yes, I am.  My name is Zevran, Zev to my-”

“Shush-” she spat at him before turning to the guard.  “No, he’s just a servant man ready to serve an oath, isn’t that right, Zevran?  Anyway, I’ll be up in my chambers.  Tell the messenger boy I want speak with the king tomorrow in the morning, make sure he delivers the message.”

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

She slammed the door behind her, no longer caring if she woke anyone.  Tears were blinked away in the privacy of her room.  Zevran’s a clever man, he’ll go away sooner or later when he finally realizes that she doesn’t want him.  Fingers rubbed against her necklace-less neck, missing what was once there.

She wasn’t one to mingle the memories that belonged to the past, she left those be as she locked her door and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, she sought Alistair out.  Mr. King was going to get it today, she knew very well that he was responsible for letting the rat scurry about.

Mapping out the palace in her mind, she knew exactly where to find him in the morning.  That’s right, in the kitchen.  That tainted kitchen.

“Do we have any cheese left?  Oh, and bring some of those crispy square-shaped things, what are those called? –Crackers?”

The blond man-child stood in front of an elf-servant, his fingers shaping a square.  She waited until the elf left to search for some cheese in the pantry before she made her grand entrance.

“Alistair, I’ve got a bone to pick with you!” she shook her fist at him as she walked into the kitchen for the fiftieth time since her return.  His face broke out an innocent ‘what-are-you-talking-about?’ smile.

“Abby, so nice to have you here again!  The messenger boy told me you came back.  It’s about time I say.”

Crossing her arms, she narrowed her dark eyes at him.  “Really?” she said sarcastically, “The messenger boy told you?-So Zevran’s presence had nothing to do with the knowledge of my return?”

“Hey, it was Wynne who told him he should stay, not me,” he said, turning towards the elf-boy who returned with cheese and crackers on a platter.  “If it were up to me, I would’ve gladly kicked him out of myself.”

“It _is_ up to you, you’re the king, dammit!”

“Yes, but you know how Wynne gets.  She would’ve slapped my hands with a fat club.”

 _…_

“…Wow.”

That was all she could say.  Even in all his power he was still afraid of Wynne-which she could understand, the old lady was quite scary sometimes when she wanted to be.  But what was she hoping to gain by letting Zevran back into Arabelle’s life?  Had she not received her letter?

“Good morning, Grey Wardens!  It is a glorious day, is it not?”

 _Oh, **crap.**_   
****

Her lips pursed, and she refused to take her eyes off of Alistair’s face.  She could pretend she already moved on, she could pretend that she was his royal mistress, it wouldn’t be so hard.  Anything to get _him_ away from her.

That wouldn’t work, she’d made her position on mage to prince relationships clear when she pretended she never noticed his misguided attempts to woo her, and Zevran already knew that, unfortunately.

"Er, is there something on my face?" Alistair asked, self-consciously rubbing his cheeks, choosing to ignore the assassin elf just as she had.

Who cares what Zevran knew, he couldn't even get his facts straight about the last battle of Fort Drakon, though she vetoed her last decision, no distractions for the king right now.

“No, no, sorry, just thought I heard an unwanted vermin squeak at me is all,” she said, spinning to flee out the doorway.

And what a fantastic coincidence, she ran into Wynne right after she fled the room.

"Goodness, child. It is so nice to have you back but must you wear those hideous clothes?-And what have I told you about paying attention when you walk to places?" she wagged her finger at Arabelle, to which she only sighed.

"Wynne, I need to speak with you."

"And hello to you too."

“Talk, right now.  Please,” she said then went on to ask forcefully, “Why?”

 “I assume it has something to do with my invitation to our most recent guest?"

So she did let him in, not even a denial.  Good, this would be easy.

"Yes, it does.  Y'know it would've been so much easier for me if you'd just strangled me to death..."

"You know, not y'know, we've been over than many times, might I remind you."

"Don’t try to change the subject."

By the Maker, it couldn’t it be possible that Wynne was so old her memories were starting to fade away, but it would explain the "ignored" letter.

"Impatient today are we? If you must know, I have my reasons for having Zevran stay."

 _Don't!-....say his name,_ she thought, teeth grinding.

 

 _Zevran_

 _Zevran_

 _Zevran_

Shaking her head, she began distractedly, "Uh...such as?"

Wynne hesitated.

"What? Oh, oh dear, it seems I forgot what I was going to say.  Abby, I believe you have duties elsewhere, stop harassing the elderly."

Wynne walked rather quickly for an old woman, leaving the poor petite mage standing alone in the great hall, doing nothing but throwing frustrated mutterings in Wynne's direction.

 _Old women and their meddling, I oughta throw my dirty socks all over her bedroom floor..._

A warm breath slithered around the back of her ear, shocking her into a jump.

"What's wrong, my dear? Not even an archdemon can drive you to be so jumpy, what is it about me that can surprise you so?"

 _Zevran_

 _Zevran_

 _Zevran_

Taking a few steps forward, she turned to face him. "Stop. Just because Wynne told you to stay doesn't mean you should, _assassin_."

Assassin, her derogatory term for him.  The word was spat out onto the floor and mentally stomped on several times.

Either he'd noticed but didn't care, or he didn't notice. 

"Ah, but neglect the fine hospitality provided by my old friends, the king and the Hero of Ferelden?-Especially from you, my darling.  What greater purpose do I serve than to obey the whims of such a lovely woman as yourself? You did say I am but a loyal servant as I recall."

 _You want to play? Fine, two can play at this game._

"Oh you got me there. There is nothing better than serving me, the Hero of Ferelden,” she cocked one brow upward seductively. “Wait, no...there _is_ something better.”

"Mmm, are we thinking of the same thing?  Because if we are, might I say how naughty you are becoming, my sweet."

Her breath caught for a brief moment, her heart pounding against her ribcage as if it were trying to reach out to him.  Resistance.

"I don't know what you're thinking of...does it involve, oh you know," she smiled coyly, closing the gap between them, her fingers toying with the knick-knacks on his leather armor. His eyes danced with excitement, did he really think she was that easy?

"Involve what, my dear? I certainly do not know."

Time to strike, she let warm ice seep into her voice.

"Does it involve....running off with a girl that looks **exactly like me**?"

His face dropped in what was that?-disgust?  As he opened his sinful mouth to speak, someone interrupted their impending argument.

“Grey Warden, I have news.  Here, take this letter, it is all explained in here,” a guard said, appearing from thin air.  He shoved an enclosed envelope in her hand and turned to quickly leave.

She frowned at the letter, and held up her hand to Zevran, motioning a halt their conversation.  There’s always something interrupting them, but it didn’t matter, she wanted him gone. 

Her eyes skimmed the letter, taking in only “Anora has escaped” and “possible mutiny to the throne.”  How could she have possibly escaped?  This was just the sort of thing she needed, a distraction. 

“I have to go…and don’t follow me.”

She found him in the dining room, sitting at the head of the unnecessarily long table munching on his cheese and crackers. 

“Alistair, Anora has escaped from Fort Drakon.”

He looked up from his food.  “She has?  That’s not good.  Do you know how?”

“No, that’s why I need you to give me permission to investigate.”

"Oh, so soon? You're going to strain yourself, child, you just returned from your trip," a stern voice said.  Wynne was already standing by the doorway as they both glanced over.  Boy, she was everywhere today.

"I haven't exactly been doing my duties, you were the one that reminded me, Wynne," Arabelle turned back to Alistair, "I'll start my investigation immediately, King Alistair, I wouldn't want Anora trying to seize the throne, so excuse me." The smaller mage made her way over to the taller one, looking at her with an expectance to move away from the door.  She couldn’t wait to begin her quest.

Finally, something to get her away from that horrid man...that handsome horrid man, with a pair of wicked lips longing to whisper in her ear.

"Just you wait, Abby.  I wouldn't want you to strain yourself too much, I know how much of a bravado you like to put on, that's why I told Zevran to accompany you."

Well, the lone wolf thing was nice while it lasted, she’d never forget those precious five minutes.  She should've known Wynne take it upon herself to do something like this.

"No need, Alistair has faith in my abilities, right Alistair?" she looked at Alistair again, her eyes pleading in a puppy-dog manner.  He stopped mid-chew, eyes darting back and forth from Arabelle to Wynne, panicked with the idea that he’d have to pick a side.

"Still, you'll need someone to help you."

"That's what Barkspawn is for.  Where is he anyway? Haven't seen him since I left, I'll go look for him."

"Abby, Zevran is going with you, I don't want to hear any arguments."

Arabelle glared at Wynne with eyes like fire.  She couldn't have the authority to tell Arabelle what to do, but wait, she _is_ the king's advisor. 

Her expression eased. Calm, cool, collected.  Calm, cool, collected.  Calm, cool...

“Ah Wynne, you and I both know that I can handle myself, but it's nice of you to be thinking of my safety.  I promise you I'll send for Zevran-" oh, how she hated the name "-ahem, if I need him.  I'm an adult, lest you have forgotten, which it seems has been happening quite frequently.”  Yes, she went there. Verbal snap in the face.

"I insist.  As the king's royal advisor-"

"But, see Wynne.  I'm not the king, I don’t have to follow your kingly advice," she interrupted calmly, her forearms thrown back, palms facing Wynne to show ‘I-still-come-in-peace’. As the silvery-haired woman thought of her next response, the little elf slipped past the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of what the Orlesian said, so in case you didn't understand what she was trying to say, the original was [Who are you to walk about with those clothes, elf-girl? Did you steal them off the body of a noble?]


	5. Chapter 5

Arriving at Fort Drakon brought forth memories she decided to bury beneath her troubles.  Screams rung in her mind, as well as the shackling of chains and the thwacking of clubs upon skin.  She’d ordered a halt to the torture of prisoners, but much to her chagrin she realized that meant Anora was also spared from such torture, though betrayal did not fall too far from beating tree.  Pulling a stunt like supporting her father at the Landsmeet after she promised Arabelle she'd help her right after she fed her to Cauthrien was not the smartest battle plan.  Vengeance was stripping her queenly title and throwing her in the dungeons for her idiotic political tactics. Knowing Anora, her ambitions _would_ drive her to do something to hurt Alistair.  She needed to be found, quick.

"Captain," she greeted at the front gate.

"Oh, my lady!  I didn't think you'd arrive so quickly, your friend told us to he'd start the investigation without you."

 _My friend? What frie-? oh no..._

"Excuse me?  Wait, wait, wait.  Are you talking about-?"

"Ah my dear Arabelle.  What took you so long? Ten more minutes without you, I could’ve solved this myself.”

That cocky voice filled her head with irritation.  What did she have to do to get rid of him?

"Zevran, you couldn't just stay away, could you?"

He mock sighed and said, "Sadly no, I can't stay away from such places, especially where different ways of torture could take place."

“That doesn’t happen here anymore,” she replied, hoping that alone would get rid of him.

Glancing at the guard, she noticed he’d picked up on their tension, and was slowly inching away from them.  Poor guard, caught up in between two bickering vines longing to intertwine again.

“Enough, I have an important errand to do.  Would you be so kind to remove yourself from the scene?  I’m sure there are other violent places that can satisfy your macabre tastes…Like a brothel!” she suggested enthusiastically  “ You should go to a brothel!” _And leave me be._

“And leave someone as small and delicate as yourself to fend for yourself in this hell-hole crammed with murderers and criminals?  I think not.”

Irony? “Bringing you along would just add another killer to the Fort Drakon collection, mind you,” she retorted sardonically, moving through the gated entrance of the massive dungeon to follow the guard.  She’d been wrong to think that he’d be offended by that.

“Then perhaps I could help you reach places you normally couldn’t.  I could carry you on my shoulders, yes?”

He followed a step behind her, maybe planning on tickling her ear with another whisper?  She quickened her pace.

“I’m not a dwarf, I don’t need your charity.  And you’re not even that tall.”

“Well, I’m bigger than you, my dear Arabelle.”

“Not where it counts,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

“Charming.  With that sort of attitude, people will start to think little of you.”

She jutted her chin out instinctively, but kept walking.  “Oh, very original, I’ve never heard that one before.”

Unintentionally, she began to take longer strides, keeping her distance from Zevran.

“Careful, my dear.  Keep walking like that and you’ll strain a muscle.  Then I’ll have to carry you.”

Ignoring his suggestion, or threat-she couldn’t tell- she kept up with her ridiculous walking pattern, eventually reaching the lone room with one larger than normal barred cell that held Anora, accommodated with nothing but the bones of dead prisoners, as Arabelle had personally ordered on the suggestion of Zevran after the Landsmeet.  A private joke between them.

She didn’t care to remind him of it.

“If you need something, I’ll be outside, my lady,” the guard said, dismissing himself.  Zevran watched him walk out before opening his mouth.

“Such atrocious things she kept around.  What other nasty things do you think went on behind these doors?” he mused with an implicative smirk.  Of course he would somehow fit a perverted scenario in a place like this.  How could he not?  Chains were everywhere.

She resisted the urge to smile.  “You were waiting until the guard left to say that, weren’t you?”

He shrugged, but kept the eye contact between them alive.  That same look of desire, and a hint of mischief, mixed in with the golden amber of his eyes- she felt a pleasant chill slither down her spine.  But he didn’t need to know that.

“Keep looking at me like that and your eyes won’t be in their sockets anymore, now if you’re going to stay, make yourself useful.  Try to look for any signs of struggle or something that doesn’t belong.”

“I thought I was here to stand around and look pretty.  Pity,” he said sarcastically.  He made his way over to the cell and examined the lock.  “Hm, the lock isn’t broken and hasn’t been picked.  Clearly someone inserted their key in this hole.”

A quiet smirk curled on his lips as she rolled her eyes.  “So she got the key somehow.  You think that maybe someone helped her?”

“Help the queen?  In her increasing popularity?  I think not.  Unless, of course, she performed favors for her guards.”

 _Performed favors on for -wait…_

That clicked! 

“Why didn’t I think of that before?  Oh, I’m so stupid!” she said anxiously, the palm of her hand slapping onto her forehead in exasperation.  “Call in the guards, I need to ask them questions.  We might be on to something!”

Surprise rushed to his face.  “What?  I was merely joking, I do not think the queen would-”

“-No, what you implied made no sense at all, but the person who helped her, she might’ve done something for them when she was still queen.  Go call in the guards, what are you waiting for?”

The tattooed man sidled back to the door, quietly murmuring the request to the man that stood behind it.  Minutes later, three guards rushed in, stopping in a straight line side-by-side to each other.

“Three?  That’s it?” she muttered under breath.  No wonder she escaped without notice.

“Do any of you remember anything suspicious during Anora’s time here?”

One spoke up almost immediately, “Suspicious?”

“Yes, like did she have any prior relationships to any of the guards here?  Or were there any specific people who favored her particularly over the rest of the prisoners?”

They all exchanged glances, their eyes questioning one another until the same one spoke again, “Now that you mention it, there was woman who talked a lot with the qu-I mean, Anora.  She said that she was one of her guards, but...I don’t see her here amongst us now.”

“Can you tell me what she looked like?”

“Um, dark hair pulled up, carried around a greatsword.  Said a lot of big words.”

 _Cauthrien!_

Arabelle turned quickly to Zevran, “Did we ever execute Cauthrien?  Do you remember?”

 _You know, from before you left?_

“No, I don’t recall being granted the opportunity to see her beheaded…or hanged, or whatever passes for a public execution these days,” he said, edging slowly away from her to take another look in the cell.  Probably hoping to find some dirty panties.

She faced the guard again, “Do you know where they could possibly be?”

Shaking his head, her face fell in disappointment.  Now more than ever, she just wanted this investigation over (for obvious reasons, a.k.a Zevran), but nooo. Nothing is ever easy.

“Wait,” Zevran commanded, holding up a cracked yellow skull from the pile of bones.  “Quite sloppy in her part, I myself could do better in this ‘escape operation,’ but I suppose this could work for us.”  He stuck his hand in the eyehole of the skull, pulling out what looked like a note.  Tossing the skull back into the pile, he glided over to Arabelle, taking her soft hand in his callused one to place the note in her palm.

Narrowing her eyes at him at his touch, she dismissed the guards from the room, waiting a few minutes after the last one left to read the note.

 _Everything has been set.  You will see me in the morning, I will give you your first meal.  In the meal you will find the key to your cell. Across the room, there is a secret opening.  Push the second to last brick in the wall, and it will take care of itself.  I will meet you in the tunnels.  Be sure no one finds this note._

“Since when has there been an opening here?” she questioned crossly, moving across the room to test the truth of the note.  The loose brick gave in easily, and as it moved backward, other bricks followed, leaving an opening large enough for a mabari to go through.

"What a nice perk to a prison," the elven man smiled to himself, following Arabelle to the opening. She shifted subtlety behind him before he was fully crouched beside her, knowing full well he was going to breathe on her again.

"How far in do you think it'll go?" she inquired, curious about these newfound tunnels. “I don’t like this…”

“Afraid of the dark, are you?” he chuckled.

Without warning, she kicked him in the hole in the wall, listening as his descent silenced his laughter to a _thump_.

"Hahaha.  Oh, I'm sorry, my foot slipped," she said sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes at him down below in complete innocence.  Mockery.

"Well played, my dear.  I believe you have just-" he grunted as he stood up, a loud snap was heard "-popped my arm out of place."

She smiled devilishly before jumping through herself, gracefully landing on both her feet.

"It was an eight foot drop, quit complaining.  You know, this is why I didn't invite you to this.  Do you need my staff to support yourself?" she teased.

 _Wait, why did I just say that?  Why am I teasing him?_

 _...Because you can't help it._

He paused before answering.  Clearly, he saw her casual manner with him as well.

"How cruel you are to mock me so, I thought I already proved my strength and usefulness to you back at Redcliffe, my dear.  Speaking of which, your stealth still needs work," he answered finally, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"So you keep saying, but remember it was I that pushed you through that opening with my master stealth skills.  You never saw it coming, I'm telling you," she muttered half-jokingly, half-angrily at him.  As he sucked in a breath to begin his retort, she quieted him with a quick frown and finger pressed to her lips.  Something was amiss here.  Silence poured into the tunnels, almost unnaturally.  Like it was trying too hard to be eerie and mysterious.  Not even a drop of water was heard.

The rumble of the bricks sliding back to their original position replete the room until the all that could be heard was Arabelle’s nervous breathing.  The tunnels were completely cut off from any source of light, and so Arabelle set her small hand aflame, revealing the disgusting moss growing in between the grayed bricked walls.

“I think…be cautious,” she whispered, looking from side to side.  Not a word in response.  How odd that the man didn’t say anything.  She turned, only to find him gone.

“Not funny, stop hiding!” she ordered quietly to the empty air.  Nothing happened.

“Zevran, c’mon.”

Nothing.

Isn’t this what she wanted?  Him, gone?  Maybe, but where did he go?  A low snarl was heard in the distance.

“Ragh!”

She spun around before her attacker could strike, flaring out her flame in the hideous face of…what is that?

“Darkspawn!”

 _I thought they were gone!_

The genlock ran in circles trying to put out the fire, flapping its small arms in the air, filling the tunnel with the most gruesome smell.

 _But then how did Anora escape?_

“And where the heck is Zevran?” she whispered to herself in annoyance.  Next to her ear, a loud _slice_ was heard, and she quickly spun around the find a hurlock spiraling to the ground, its throat gashed in neatly, as if done by a perfectionist.  Blood spurted onto her face, and the horrendous smell of a burnt corpse filled her nose.

“I hate you _so_ much right now,” she fumed, not daring to even touch the blood spattered all over herself.  Zevran reappeared from the shadows; smirk in place, and into the light of the fire Arabelle created.  “How could you be so ungrateful?  I saved your life, my dear.”

“Was it really necessary to squeeze out all of this-” she motioned at her clothes with her non-busy hand, “-nastiness onto my robes?!”

“As necessary as it was to violently thrust me in here,” he laughed.  She glared at him and muttered, “I wouldn’t try to offend the person holding the magical staff, if I were you,” before continuing onward through the tunnels, on guard for anymore darkspawn.

“Are you considering turning me into a toad?”

“How can I possibly turn something into a toad if it already is one?”

“Ah, the mockery of it all!  Ironic it is that you say I am a toad now because you did not seem to think so in the past, with your undying love for me and all.”

“Oh, good one, Zevran,” she mock applauded, “Funny how you seem to forget that I never loved you enough to invite you to my bed, so perhaps there was no love to begin with.”

Cold, heartless, unfeeling.  This finally silenced him, but she instantly regretted her words.  Suddenly winning the “Heartbreak Game” didn’t sound so appealing.


	6. Chapter 6

Hours turned to days.  The bricks ceased to appear, revealing only caverns lit by their own source of light.  Lava?  There were no forks in the road, it was a one-way tunnel, so how is it that they have not encountered a dead or alive Anora?

“She must have been protected by Cauthrien,” he said from behind her, as if reading her mind.  His sudden desire to speak surprised her, but she welcomed it.  The sounds that ever really came out of his mouth were an occasional hum.

“Yeah, maybe.  Didn’t think Cauthrien had the guts to face darkspawn though, especially after she abandoned us at Ostagar with Loghain,” she answered, turning to face him.  Unwanted silence filled the gap between them again, and she hated it.  Wasn’t this what she had in mind when she left Ferelden in the first place?  To have him back by her side?  But they weren’t ‘Zevran and Arabelle’ anymore, no.  Their names weren’t even put in the same sentence now, but here they are in the same cavern together.  Here they are doing things adventurers do, here they are looking at each other as lovers do.

She looked away, and kept onward deeper into the tunnel.  Had he loved that Millicent girl? 

 _No, not if he left her to come back._

“Did you…did you really not feel anything for me, as you said before?”

This man was full of surprises today.  Avoid the question, or get it over with now?

“I-uh…did you?” she asked softly, refusing to say that she loved him at the time.  Still did, but that was not what he was asking.

“Now why would you ask such a thing?”

She was waiting for something to interrupt.  Anything at all, she didn’t want to talk about her feelings, and she suspected neither did he.  Yet here they were.

“You know why.”

“If it has to do with my leaving, I already told you.”

Curiously, it wasn’t turning into an argument.  Just the reference to his departure made her angry.

 _Keep it civil.  Be calm, remember?_

“But you left so readily, like you didn’t even think twice about it.  And when I found you-” the mere memory of the experience in Antiva made her shiver “-you seemed anything but regretful.”

He was walking by her side now, but respecting her personal space for once.

“I became the leader of the Crows.  Such regret was not appropriate for assassins.”

“So you never thought of me.  Not even once.  How disappointing,” she chuckled forcefully, trying to lighten the mood.  He wasn’t moved.

“Of course I did!” he snapped, “Can you not see that? I couldn’t forget you, I tried too hard to forget you, and it still wasn’t enough.”

Speechless.

“I-”

“-Why didn’t you take me with you?!” he yelled, throwing his arms in the air. “Your ‘battle tactics’ were incredibly absurd!”  His face was screwed up in fury, she’d never seen him so angry, and now that he was, she had no idea how to respond.  With returned anger?  With indifference?  That wouldn’t calm him down.  But she knew what would.  Should she say it?

 _Zevran. I **love** you._

 “Hey, watch where you’re going!” a rough voice yelled at her. She turned to find a pack of dwarves, staring spitefully at her.

“What are you elves doing down here?  This is a noble house expedition, very exclusive, so I hope you’re not here to steal our treasures because if you do, we’ll-”

“-Whoa, calm down there, scruffy, we don’t even know where we are,” she answered, a little amused by the small bearded man’s feisty attitude.  So this is what it was like to talk down to someone smaller than you.  No wonder everyone picked on her.

“Don’t know where you are?!  You’re in the sodding Deep Roads, where else do you think you’d be?”

“Yeah, we know that, but _where_?  As in, which city are we closest to?”

“Orzammar,” he answered impatiently.

“By any chance, have you seen a tall stuck-up woman and her friend who carries a greatsword wander around here?”

“This is the last question I’m going to answer, but yes we did, they went that way, towards Orzammar.”

He pointed behind him, and left with his house behind him.

“What a rude little man,” she muttered to Zevran, “Maybe we can catch up to Anora and Cauthrien.  Why would they hide in Orzammar, that’s so strange.”

“Perhaps because they know you would never search there,” he answered, still troubled about their last conversation.  He dropped it as easily as she had, that was the nice thing about Zevran.

 _Never pushes._

They reached the dwarven capital within a few hours, only encountering darkspawn every once in awhile until they passed through Aeducan Thaig.  Not once did they mention their previous conversation since it was a red flag for vulnerability, but Arabelle knew it wasn't done.  No, far from it.

"Ah, and so finally Arabelle returns to her people.  Marvelous!" he laughed.

"Did I ever tell you how horrible you are to me?" she replied, her tone playful.

Orzammar, the very essence of political reasoning.  Now she knew why Anora would come here, but humans weren't allowed in this dwarven city.  In fact, no one but dwarves and Grey Wardens were allowed, so what was she thinking?

"I don't understand where she went.  Humans cannot come here, and even if they were, I doubt they could hide properly," she thought aloud.

"Well, they could have been smuggled inside.  I'm sure this woman had many loyal to her, maybe dwarves as well."

How could that be right?

"Great, now dwarves are helping her."

"Psssst."

A disturbing noise rang in her ear drums, coming from a nearby market cart.

"Pssst!" louder this time.  She frowned, but went to the source of the noise.  A cloaked dwarf, she wasn't sure whether it was a man or a woman.  It didn't matter, anyway.  Knowing would defeat the purpose of the cloak.

"Looking for Anora, are you?"

 _Uhh, maybe._

"What do you know?" she whispered in turn.  The cloaked figure held out its aged hand-clearly deformed by lyrium handling- in expectance.

"What do you want, a high five?" Arabelle asked, trying not to smile at her own patronizing tone.

The hand shook once in frustration, "No! Two sovereigns, that's all I ask."

Very well, that's what she knew it was coming to anyway. She dropped the two gold coins in the hand, then glanced at Zevran with a look that said "Make sure this person doesn't run."

It wasn't necessary though, the dwarf began talking in a raspy voice.

"I saw a blond and a dark-haired woman, sneaking around behind market stands.  Honestly, how are they going to hide when they’re two times bigger than us?  Anyway, I overheard them talking about a place in called..uh, Highever?”

“Do you know anything else?”

"Sorry," the silhouette barked, then turning to waddle away with money in hand.

“Well he, or at least I think it was a he, was certainly delightful.”

“So you can tell?” she rolled her eyes, walking away from the market stands to leave the Orzammar Commons.

“So Highever is our next visit, yes?” he said.

“Yes,” she sighed, this wild goose chase was tiring her very much. “I don’t understand something.  Why would they come to Orzammar first?  Isn’t Highever a shorter distance away from Denerim than this place?”

“Maybe to lose us?”

She shook her head.  “No…there must have been something here.”

The he/she hadn’t waddled far, the dwarf was heading toward bridge leading to the Proving grounds.  She chased after it, and grabbed it’s collar of the robe, forcefully turning the dwarf around.  The hood fell from the head, revealing a small part of his beard.

“Look, I told you I didn’t know anything else!”

“I’m sure you know something.  Did you see them go somewhere notable in the city?”

The dwarf held out his hand, asking for more money.  Out of nowhere, Zevran appeared, pushing the man against the large Proving door and holding a dagger to his throat.  The man drew in his hand back slowly.

“Would you like to share with my friend here what _else_ you know?”

“Uh-h,” he shivered, glancing back down at the dagger, “Her friend threatened to kill me if I told.  I can’t! Please…”

“Her friend isn’t here,” Zevran spat, waving his dagger to the dwarf’s groin.  “And I believe I can do a lot worse than she can.”

“Okay, okay!” he squealed, throwing his hands up to surrender.  “I saw the one with the sword go into the Chamber of Assembly, okay?  When I saw her walk out, she looked like she was hiding something, now that’s all I know, I swear!”

“Zevran, stop poking him with your dagger-aw c’mon, you’re going to give him a heart attack.”  She pushed Zevran aside and let the dwarf free.  They watched him flee, while Zevran put away his dagger.

“And that is how you get things done.  Lesson learned, yes?”

“Oh,” she sighed, “you know what?  All you did was make that poor bastard crap his already dirty pants.”

He laughed.  “Let’s go to the Chamber.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little short, sorry.

“Could you wait outside?  I want to lay low, and _you_ \- you will just scare everyone.”

“What?  Do you know what I am here for?  Wynne personally asked for my assistance, and I am not one to break my promises.”

“Just,” she halted him with her hand, “Wait outside.”

Once inside, she had a feeling that whatever Cauthrien wanted, it would be hidden away somewhere in the darkest corner of this place, so obviously it would not be in the center court. The harsh architecture of the building might’ve swallowed her up if not for the panicking guards at one end of a hallway.

“I can’t believe we lost it.  Do you know how sodding important this thing is?  How can you just let someone steal it?!”

The miniature man threw his hands in the air, accusing the other with angry eyes.  The other cringed away, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know!”

“Excuse me, but what exactly are you missing here?” Arabelle intruded, sparing the man of any further backlash.  His superior turned and looked at her with unforgiving eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?  _Your_ kind took the Key to the City.  Do you know how important that is?  What are you doing here anyway?”

“My kind?  Okay, as far as I know, Grey Wardens do not steal things, if anything we ask for them kindly.  And because I am so forgiving,” she paused and smiled to emphasize her gold heart, “I will try to get this…Key to the City back for you.”  She purposely didn’t answer his last question, he didn’t need to know that she was stalking someone.

“You…you would do that?” he asked.  The shyer one remained silent, but watched in anticipation.  That’s understandable, she’s saving his ass.

“Yes, I will.  But you have to answer some of my questions.  Forgive me for asking, but why is this key so important?  I mean, why would a human _want_ to steal it?”

He looked around cautiously and whispered, “Well, the key is actually a ring.  And the ring has supernatural abilities.”

“What exactly does it do?”

“Let’s just say it’ll make anyone harder to kill, on any level.”

Great.  And Cauthrien has it? Of course she would.  The Maker just _loves_ complicating her life.


	8. Part Two-Forgive Me?

Highever.  No better than Orlais, with those frilly nobles walking about like they were prancing on needles.  The West Hill dirt roads gradually turned into bridges made of ancient stones, the hills flattened out into a flat lavish landscape, looking at their best against the sunset. From the distance, Arabelle saw the towers of the majestic castle, fit for a ternyr.  Or Anora.

“Ah, a castle.  Many treasures must be hidden within, yes?  Might we consider breaking in and taking some?  I doubt they’ll notice any of it was gone…” Zevran said, his eyes glittering with greed.

“If we can find a way into the castle, sure, take all the treasures you want,” she answered slowly, half occupied with trying to come up with a plan to trespass. “Actually, keep your eyes open for a special kind of ring.  It might glow, if we’re lucky.”

The continued down the roads, into the heavenly lands of Highever, entering into the belly of the beast.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

“These people of these lands are loyal to you, and to you only, my queen,” the velvety voice promised Anora, who sat at the dining table, sipping a cup of wine.  She graciously set the chalice down, sat up straight, with her chin held high in confidence-the true mark of a wannabe queen- and said to Cauthrien, “I know, I would not come here if they were not.  Now that I have the loyalty of one of the strongest cities in Fereldan, I may begin my conquest.  I will not be tossed aside after leading this country for five years while the previous king played with his little toy soldiers in the games of war.”

“You deserve more, my queen.  Just as your father would have said.  When shall we attack the-?”

“Patience, Cauthrien.  There must be a perfect time to strike, and for now, we must wait.  The Wardens do not know our whereabouts, and for now I’d like to keep it that way.  And in time, more of this city will be willing to fight for our cause.”

“Of course, my lady, and know that I will fight by your side until the end,” Cauthrien agreed, glancing at the stony ring hugging her finger.  Eager to impress, to please.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

They entered the city through an ivory archway, expecting to find nothing but empty streets and lit candles through quiet homes.  To their surprise, the streets were filled with noble humans and their servants, clearly disregarding the fact that it was too dark to go to the markets.  Rambunctious marketers yelling their final prices on food, swords, armor, jewelry, and so on, and buyers rushing to get a decent bargain-Arabelle was not sure whether to consider find this a good or bad thing. 

“Take cover,” she whispered at Zevran, then pulling her red hood over her face.  Blending in with the crowd wasn’t hard, it was somewhat of a beneficial perk to being an elf.  The mob swallowed her and Zevran whole, she pushed and shoved through in attempt to get to the other side, whatever that might hold for them. 

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Zevran yelled over the sea of people, the risk of drawing attention to himself long gone.

“Away from these people!  What kind of city goes shopping this late?” she answered back, squeezing through two elves only to find herself at the front of a wooden market stand.  Turning around in hopes of escaping the hollering marketers, her eyes caught sight of a familiar face across the marketplace.

She whipped back around, deciding to face the marketer instead, who ignored her.  Erlina.

“What’s wrong?” Zevran frowned, immediately picking up on her displeasure.

“You see that elf girl over there?  Dark hair up, pale face?”

“You mean the one with the deliciously shaped lips?  Yes, I see her,” she heard him purr in admiration.

“That’s Erlina, you remember, Anora’s servant girl.  She knows who I am! We gotta leave before she sees us,” Arabelle quickly said in alarm.  Before she could walk in another direction, Zevran grabbed her arm to stop her.

“She does not know me, as I recall,” Zevran said quietly in her ear.

“Zevran, I am begging you, don’t make this into some sort of sexual conquest, or you will get us both killed,” she said through her teeth, getting a little annoyed of his immediate attraction to the girl.

“No, no, I did not mean it in that sense.  I merely meant that she could be our way inside the castle,” he explained.  “But I suppose I could make time for…conquest-ing.”

“Wow, that’s probably the best idea you’ve come up with so far.  _If_ you can get her to take you to the castle.”

“I am a master in persuasion, Arabelle.  You of all people should know this by now,” he grinned, shrugging off her glare before gliding over to the unsuspecting Erlina.

Rolling her eyes, she moved through the crowd, using the endless amount of people as cover.  She tried to stay within a 10 foot radius of Zevran, watching his back and maybe getting a little jealous of his unwavering attention to Erlina.  Under her hood, she watched as Zevran completely charmed the girl, her pale cheeks flushing to a nice shade of red as Zevran boldly whispered in her ear.  It wasn’t before long that Erlina shyly whispered back into his, and left his company, disappearing into the crowd.  This little procedure of his didn’t take more than 5 minutes.  Showoff.

Arabelle stopped, and waited from where she stood, expecting Zevran’s inevitable return.

“So, what did she say?” she asked.

“Well, she told me I could work inside the castle,” he said arrogantly, cocking his head as if silently saying ‘Never-Doubt-The-Zevran.’

“Anything else?”

“Yes, but what she promised was for my ears only,” he answered, quite satisfied with himself.

“I meant,” she started a bit exasperated, “did she say when you could start working?”

“Ah, yes,” he said back.

She stared at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, but only saw that his eyes were wandering back to where Erlina was.

She mentally groaned, and snapped her fingers in his face to draw his attention back.

“Hey,”-snap-, “Hey.  Pay attention.”

His eyes snapped back to her face, “Well, that was uncalled for.”  He caught her hand quickly before it fell back to her side and said, “It’s rude to snap at people, my dear.”

“Well, answer my question and you won’t be snapped at,” she said back, thrusting her arm from his grip.

“She told me to meet her here in an hour, and she’ll bring me to the castle.”

“How did you even convince her to bring you inside anyway?”

“You’d be surprised how far a simple flirtation has gotten me.  Or maybe not, I mean, you _were_ there when you kissed me at Redcliffe.”

“You’re this close to me slapping you right now,” she threatened, bringing her hand up as if to intimidate him. He only chuckled, as usual.  “So what did you say?”

“I only told her I was looking for work, and that I was _very_ capable of _anything_.  She asked where I came from and I said the Alienage from Denerim.  She seemed to be pleased when I said I didn’t agree with our dear friend Alistair’s crowning.”

“Okay, so how are we gonna get me inside?  Are you going to sneak me inside, or what?”

“Someone as small as you, I think I could fit you in a potato sack.”

“If only you had a _sack_ to begin with,” she countered, rolling her eyes.

“Oho!  Is that a challenge?”

She decided to distance herself from where he stood, and as she did so, the people dispersed from the main market, each one walking off with a prize.  Hiding in a dark corner, shadowing herself with her mediocre sneak skills, Arabelle found Erlina walking towards Zevran, with a wild touch in her expression.  She tapped the man, said one word, which Arabelle identified as “Come” and led him away from the empty streets.

Following close behind, she found herself developing a sort of emulous feeling at Erlina blossoming within her, with Zevran staring at her like she was the only woman in the world. 

 _She’s not_ that _pretty, and how can he listen to her talk without finding her accent really annoying? Wait, wait, wait…knowing Zevran, this is exactly what he wants.  He can’t fool me._

She took in a silent deep breath to calm herself down, and continued following them, listening as they chatted about trivial things, flirting innocently (on her part anyway), and his subtle proposition hadn’t escaped her hearing either, her ears grew hot in unrequited resentment.  Finally, they reached the estate, and as they walked inside the front gates together, she found a way inside the guard-less courtyard.  Would she have to stay out here all night?  _It’s actually getting chilly_ , she worried, crouching low beside a large statue of who she identified as Loghain.  How predictable of Anora.

The wind whistled at her, chilling her skin underneath her thin robes.  Suddenly the potato sack idea didn’t sound so bad, she found herself thinking jokingly.

As the night progressed, she followed the flowered courtyard path until she was near the stables. 

“I can’t believe we got stuck with night duty,” she heard gruff voice complain, immediately halting her in her path.

“I know.  I hate my life sometimes,” another replied in a monotone.

“Why do they need us here anyway?  No one wants to steal an elf, no one is going to break into the servant quarters, we shouldn’t even be here,” the gruff voice continued.

She need only turn a corner, and she would come face to face with two guards.  Two.  Only two.

It wouldn’t take long to incapacitate them, she promised herself. 

“Hey Cliffe...whadya think they’d do if we just left right now?”

The monotone one, Cliffe, sighed and said, “They’d kill us, probably.”

“No, they said they’d need us for something else.  They’ll probably just imprison us… _if_ they find out.”

 _This seems to be taking care of itself actually._

Cliffe stayed silent, so the other continued babbling. “Wow, they were right.  You are quiet.  You’re incredibly boring, you know that?  I can fix that.  How ‘bout we leave, just for a second.  No one will know, trust me, we’re the only guards out here.”

“And go where?”

“To the stables, it’s not that far.  It’d be funny if Lance’s horse kicked him off tomorrow when he goes riding with Ser Cauthrien, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

“Lance? You mean Lance Allott?  I hate that guy.”

“Well, why don’t we pay his horse a little visit then?”

After a few moments, she listened to them walk off together towards the stables, which was a few feet away.  She dashed around the corner, careful not to step into the torch lit area, keeping the eyes in the back of her head open as she silently opened the heavy door. 

Once inside, she shut the door behind her.  Soft snores filled the dark room, the sleeping servants not even aware of her presence.

“Zevran?” she called out in a whisper.  No answer.

  

  1. Or taking clothes from a homeless guy.   Not very nice.
  



Stepping over the servants, she tiptoed across the room, making sure no one was disturbed by listening to their rhythmic breathing.

 _Where the heck is Zevran?_

Ditching her for another woman, _again_?  To Arabelle, that’s crossing the line.  When she finally reached the door, she was enraged.  What was that fool thinking?

With a subtle click of the door, she opened it slowly, and stepped into what must be the kitchen.  How convenient, they placed the servants next to the kitchen. 

 _Don’t tell me they sleep in the larder…_ , she thought, looking behind her at the door leading into the room she was just in.

“What’s this?  A rebellious servant?”

Without having to turn around, she knew it was Zevran. 

“You’re doing that _way_ too often, it’s not scary anymore.”  She turned around to meet him face to face, and even in the dark, she could see he looked smug, with his cocky grin all lopsided.  How sickening.  He was wearing the traditional servant clothes, a little tighter than usual, showing off his lean body.

“Where were you?!” she whispered angrily at him, resisting to poke him accusingly.

“Getting settled in, my dear Arabelle.  That Erlina is very welcoming, but alas, it is very tiring to keep her happy,” he said in a mock unsatisfied tone, eyeing her as if expecting something. 

“Oh yeah?  Poor baby, it must be _so_ tough, getting all the attention….But of course, I wouldn’t know because _I’ve been outside all night!_ ”

“So feisty, you did not even give me the chance to give this to you.”

He thrust old clothes at her, “I took them while a servant was bathing.  Personally, I thought she looked better without them.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, taking the clothes he had in his hands.  An immediate change would’ve been advisable, but she stood there, foolishly expecting him to look away.

“I would change if I were you,” he said after a moment of her glaring at him.

 _Thank you, Captain Obvious._

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she sounded like a child.  “I was waiting for you to turn around, actually, but it seems that was a lost cause.”

She went past him, thinking she could change behind a table or maybe even an oven.  Luckily, the real larder wasn’t two steps away from where she stood.  Inside the room, she shut the door, making sure it was securely closed before she started to throw off her robes.  Zevran couldn’t even be trusted for that.

The clothes were that of a peasant, which she didn’t mind until she realized she could feel the cold from outside slithering inside her baggy tunic.  Then there was the matter of “Where-Do-I-Hide-My-Stuff?”  Her bootless feet struck the icy stone floor as she walked out from the room, sending chills to the rest of her body.  Surprisingly, she didn’t find Zevran against the door looking through a peephole.

“There are some things a woman should never wear…” he began.

“Ah, shut up.  I look great.  Where did you hide your things?”

“Oh, those?  I didn’t have to hide them, Erlina is keeping them in a chest.”

“Okay, genius, then where am I s’posed to put my stuff?”

His hand gestured toward a large wooden box by the oven, probably overridden by cockroaches, it didn’t look too clean from her point of view.

“Uh…okay,” she agreed reluctantly, scrunching her face in disgust while inching closer to the box.  Her hands grabbed the edges on the box, and shook it as if to test it.  Sure enough, a couple of unidentifiable organisms fled from it.  Growing impatient, she willed her cold hands to extend the silvery frost feeling, freezing the box and anything left within it.  Her hand slapped the top of the box, and an immediate burning sensation spread to her fingers, allowing her to use her heat as a flame.  Opening the box, she used the light to see what was left inside (a family of frozen cockroaches) and boiled them inside out, leaving ashes behind.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Would you want unsanitary insects crawling all over _your_ clothes?  …Didn’t think so,” she replied, throwing her beloved robes into the crate.  She kicked the crate next to some other wooden boxes, knowing she’d have to guard it during their stay.  The best thing to do now was to find a sleeping spot on the nice, cold, hard floor with the other elves.

“Be uptight all you want, someday something gruesome will find its way into your clothes,” he laughed as she crept over to the door behind him.

“Ah, what could possibly be disgus-”

He stopped, his eyes flitted over to the other door across the room.  In a flash, he reached out for her, his fast hands finding a way to her waist, and before she could protest, he’d already planted his lips on hers.  Bliss.  Then disgust.

“Mraht are you-?!”

The door across the room _wham!-_ ed open, two armed guards rushed into the room, blades pointed right at them.  Zevran released Arabelle in a surprised manner, eyes growing large in shock.  He was always the more dramatic of the two.

 “Hey!  What are you two elves doing after curfew?!” the first guard demanded.

Arabelle decided to let Zevran answer this one, letting her wild black hair hide her face a bit.  Zevran pretended to nervously babble, “Uh, er, we were just…”

“Just satisfying their filthy needs in the kitchen, like we haven’t seen that before.  C’mon, we’re wasting time here, just send them back into their servant quarters,” the other said, lowering his blade.

The first didn’t lower his. 

“Please, ser.  It won’t happen again,” he assured him, resulting in the man to lower his blade finally.

“Just get back into the room.  Next time, don’t expect me to spare you,” he said angrily, then turned to the other guard, muttering, “Elves.”

They watched Zevran as he carefully _creak_ ed the door behind him open, pulling Arabelle along in with him by the waist, and shut the door. 

In the dark, she wanted to cry because she knew no one could see.  How could she miss someone who was standing right beside her so much?  And yet, she slaps his hands from her waist, knowing exactly where they’d been since he’d left with Erlina.  She wouldn’t see him in the morning, and for that she was grateful. 


	9. Chapter 9

Two weeks, gone.  Zevran was probably off with Erlina somewhere, and here she is, obeying the orders of a fat old woman who didn’t even know how to properly prepare a decent meal.  The back of her hand wiped away the beads of sweat on her forehead as she continued to endure the hellhole of a kitchen. 

 _Zevran, you son of a horned broodmother, you better have some news today. Or at least have the ring._

“Elf!  I said to bring good wine!  This is just grapes crushed into a chalice. Wine for the poor.  Don’t you want the best for our queen?!”

“Ah, but this is the same wine _you_ drink every hour,” she sassed tiredly, then spat out the word, “m’lady.”

“Oh, it seems we have ourselves a royal fool.  We have enough of those, as evident by Ferelden’s bastard king.  I should have respect beaten into you, elf.  Would you like to spend another night in the dungeon?  I can certainly arrange that.”

 _Would you like to see your insides?  I can arrange that,_ Arabelle thought bitterly.

“I’m sorry, my lady.  I’ll get the proper wine for our rightful queen,” she forced out.  Zevran might have news today, she couldn’t risk being locked up again.

“That’s right.  Know your place, girl, or I’ll have you whipped.  And hurry yourself, I need you to prepare the feast the queen has planned for her guests.”

“Guests?”

“She’s planning on feeding her army, now go!”

She went back into the larder, which led to the wine cellar.  _Army?_ She wondered, pouring the oldest wine in the cellar in the emerald encrusted chalice. 

“Arabelle!”

She spun around, without spilling the wine, only to drop the chalice as she realized how close he was. 

“Zevran!” she said in the same tone, throwing her hands in the air in fake shock, covering up her jolt.  “What’s going on?” she continued, picking up the chalice, wondering how he could be so damn surreptitious.

He skipped the “my dear” and went right to the news. “Erlina informed me that Anora plans to attack Denerim, she told me she has an army already prepared to leave tomorrow.”

“Damn,” she muttered, thinking of the ring.  No time to get that back. “Ok, we should leave as soon as possible.  But, even if we get there before them, we’ll only have a few hours to prepare Alistair.”

“A few hours are better than a surprise attack.”

“You think Erlina will miss you while you go run an errand for me?” she asked, coming up with an idea.

“Well, I was supposed to meet her later in her chambers,” he grinned, “But seeing how the circumstances are, I think I can sacrifice those pleasures.”

“Oh please.  Can you please stay focused?  This is serious.”

“Of course, what is it?” he asked, pacing.

“I need you to find me some deathroot plants.”

“I don’t know if I can find enough to poison all of them…” he stopped pacing and frowned at her, as if she should know that.

“Don’t doubt my plan, just go do it.”

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

He returned to the cellar with two potato sacks full of deathroot three hours later, 15 minutes before the serving of the feast.

“I don’t know what you want to accomplish, we would need triple of this,” he dropped the potato sacks, “to poison all these people.”

“I know, just go back to Erlina before she notices you’re missing.  By the Maker, she’ll have me murdered if she knows you’re with me,” she ushered him toward the stairs. “Meet me by the horse stables in 30 minutes.”

“You forget that there will be guards,” he told her.

“Don’t worry about it, those guards…probably won’t be there tonight.”

He stopped at the first stair and turned.  “Hurry, I only have 10 minutes,” she whispered, pushing him further.  “Don’t get caught,” he said before sashaying up the stairs.

“Pff, I never get caught,” she said to herself.

She brought the two sacks into the larder, where the courses of the feast were hidden away from any curious soldiers.  Her plan was simple; it was a repetitive prank she pulled every year back in the tower on the templars.  They had no idea it was her responsible for their long-lasting troubles, Irving would help by blaming it on a failed curse blood mages casted on the tower once.

She didn’t have time to pull every single leaf off each one, but she could pass it off as a similar edible plant.  Sprinkling a piece on each dish hurriedly, she snickered in reminiscence of those unfortunate templars.

She threw the sacks under the tables and fled the room.  All that was needed was patience. 

The wooden box hadn’t been touched for days, but she knew exactly where it was.  As she held it, the beastly old woman verbally surprise-attacked her.

“Elf!  Dammit, I thought I told you to prepare the wine!”

The wooden box hid her face luckily, so Arabelle could easily fool the old gluttonous human.  After all, every elf looks the same to them anyway.  From an angle, her fat ankles were visible, giving Arabelle an advantage.

“M’lady,” she said in a convincing accent, “I believe you told the other servant to do that.  I was ordered to remove these useless boxes from the kitchen.”

The woman harrumphed, and grumbled, “Very well, but if you see that worthless elf, you tell me!”

Hmm, seems like she didn’t notice that this worthless elf was quite shorter than the others. 

 _Not my problem!_

The fat ankles stomped away toward the intersecting door leading to the dining room.  She listened to the angry _slam_ , and proceeded back into the kitchen, remembering the door to the courtyard.  The crate cracked as she threw it on the ground, and stripped her clothes off, hoping no one would enter the room.  No one did, and within seconds, her robe was secured, hood in place, and her trusty staff on her back, and she was finally ready to flee this city.

Once by the stables, the sunset had already fallen past the horizon, making it easier to escape the city without being noticed by anyone.

“Shall we leave, my dear?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

They reached the outskirts in two days, if she was magic-less, they would’ve taken perhaps a week more. From a distance, the castle looked so peaceful.  Denerim in one piece, it survived the darkspawn attack and it definitely will survive Anora’s. 

“You never told me what you did with the deathroot, my dear.”

“Hmm?  Oh, right.”

She held up her index finger, promising that she would explain, but continued power walking closer and closer to the city.  “You know how I like to pull pranks every once in awhile, right?”

He rolled his eyes in response, and in close observation, maybe you’d be able to see his hand slightly twitch toward his hair.  Obviously remembering the time she shaved his head when she found him drunk.  “Haha,” she chuckled, “Well, when I used to live in the tower, I would always pull pranks on templars, just ‘cause I hated them sometimes.  Anyway, when I turned 16, my friend gave me deathroot as a present, just to be an ass.  I ‘accidentally’ dropped it in the head templar’s food, and he had hallucinated about demons.  For a very long time, I might add.”

“Oh, Arabelle,” he sighed, shaking his head.  “So we have more time to prepare, correct?”

“Yeeeess,” she said, stretching the word Alistair-style.  “Aren’t I so clever?”


	10. Chapter 10

They found him sitting on his throne, playing with hand puppets.  Normally, being caught playing with puppets would embarrass someone.  But not Alistair.  Not after they’ve already caught him doing so many other things.

“Alistair!  Oh Maker, do we have news for you.”

“Abby?  Zevran?  Where were you people?” he asked urgently, immediately putting away his puppets.  “I sent out search parties for you, and eventually I had to assume Zevran kidnapped you.”

“Now he thinks up good ideas.  That might’ve helped two months ago, my friend.”

“Not the time.  Listen, Anora and Cauthrien are planning to attack this city, they plan to overthrow you!”

“What?  Her and what army?”

“Highever’s army.”

“That would explain why I have not heard any news from that city in awhile.”

She was exasperated by his irresponsibility.  “Where’s Wynne?  We need to plan for the battle.”

“No, you are not going to plan this time,” Zevran interrupted.  He glared at her and stated, “Your battle tactics are ludicrous.  Let the king plan, this is his city.”

Her body turned fully to him, daring him to insult her further.  “Dammit, Zevran!  I’m here to _help_ Alistair, and you’re pretty much sabotaging his chances.  Where’s Wynne?!”

“You’re not doing me any favors by waking me in the middle of the night, Abby.”

They all averted their eyes to the enormous doorway where the admirable old mage stood.  She scoffed at the sight of their clothing, but thankfully she let that slide.

“Where have you two been?  I’ve been worried sick.”

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t having a ball, I know you secretly liked the fact that Mr. Assassin here was with me the whole entire time-  but anyway, moving on.  Anora plans to attack Denerim, she _and_ her army.”

Wynne took a step back in surprise, her eyes widening in shock.  “Army?  So where was she this whole time?”

“In Highever, trying to be the queen she so wishes to be.  When we’re done with her, we have to deal with that city.”

“Well, I shall have Denerim prepare as fast as we can.  How long until the attack?”

“I’ve stalled them, so it’ll take at least a week.”

There was a silence in the room, all were contemplating any brilliant battle plans.

“The people of Denerim are the most important.  First, we must secure their beliefs in me so they won’t end up rooting for Anora,” Alistair began, sneering at her name. “Then we can worry about the battle.  As far as I know, they’ll most likely attack the city gates first, so it’s safe to assume it’ll take an hour or two before they reach the palace, if we have an effective army." He glanced at Arabelle, waiting on her reassuring nod. "Next thing.  I will fight to protect my place as king, I can't expect the people to trust me if I cower away from battle."

"Very true," Arabelle thought aloud, a little impressed with his strategy.  "But we can't risk losing you in this battle, you have to stay in the palace, I think only a few will penetrate this place, so you'll be fine fighting.  But you still need guards protecting you."

"He already has palace guards," Zevran stated in an annoyed manner.  Arabelle scowled at his tone, but continued.

"I will fight outside the palace.  I know this place Cauthrien's main objective, so we'll have a better chance of finding her here, along with precious Anora."

"There is still the matter of the people," Wynne declared. "Evacuating the city would be most wise."

"Just the women and children, the men need to stay and help in whatever way they can."

"And where exactly would we hide these women as children?" Zevran started again.

"Dragon's Peak isn't too far from here, maybe a two day journey at the most."

"I'm sure the Bann will be more than willing to accept them."

"Why haven't we discussed who could help us?  Why can't Dragon's Peak send an army to protect Denerim?" he continued to criticize, trying to call attention to Arabelle's inability to plan tactics.

"Because, Zevran, if you would only think, you'd realize that the Bann would only offer half his men, which wouldn't help much, and even if we did accept their help, they wouldn't get here in time.  You know how slowly armies travel."

Wynne rubbed her temples wearily, closing her eyes slowly in the process.  “There must be some reason she is so bold as to think she can attack the city.  Does she have some sort of advantage?”

The Key to the City.  Shit, that’s going to complicate things.

“Maker, yeah.  They have the Key to the City.  Alistair, you remember.  It’s a ring from Orzammar that makes someone _really_ hard to kill,” she said, distressed.

“All we need to worry about is who has the ring, right?”  Alistair hoped. “Whoever has the ring will probably be the one trying to kill me most.”

“That could be Anora or Cauthrien, but we already knew that.”

Zevran hmm-ed and finally gave a valid suggestion.  “Cauthrien has the most experience in killing.  It will be her, most likely.”

Wynne looked up at him in surprise, then went back to frowning at the floor.  “I think this will be enough for tonight.  We have a week, isn’t that right?  We’ll prepare the army tomorrow, no use scaring them tonight, especially when tired.”

She waited for them to agree before leaving the room, presumably to catch some more Zs. She was right, they needed rest.  In the morning, they will strategize some more.


	11. Chapter 11

The day of the attack came more quickly than he could have imagined.  The city militia was fully prepared-standing loyally nearby the city gates, ready to give their lives protecting Denerim, their homes, and their king.  The women and children had evacuated safely to Dragon’s Peak, save a few women who believed they found an inspiration in ancient women warriors, and perhaps the lovely Arabelle as well.

It was amazing to him, how she could have done this so quickly.  His only job was to protect the king, but he’d much rather fight by her side instead.  That’s what he came here for.  He was such a fool to think that she had died by the Archdemon.  She was Arabelle!  By the Maker, she could find a way to do the impossible without any trouble.  How?  God knows, the only thing Zevran knew was that he was going to fight with her, no matter if she loved him or hated him (which is rather unclear at the moment to him).

“Where will you be?” her soft voice asked, serious dark eyes testing him, to see if he knew the battle plan.

“Wherever you will be, my dear,” he purred back. 

 _I’ll follow you to the end of the world._

She was unmoved.  “Zevran, get this through your head.  You have to protect Alistair, no one else.”

Serious business. This is not the time to confess any more passionate feelings, of course not.  His fingers curled around his pocketed earring.  For some reason, she did not like talking about her feelings-strange woman as she was- _especially_ when something more important was at hand. 

“Won’t you be protecting him as well?”

 _I’m not letting you out of my sight._

“Arabelle!” someone called at the end of the grand hallway.  She snapped her head in the direction in response, losing eye contact from Zevran.

“I’ll be outside, waiting for Cauthrien mostly.  You stay by Alistair!  _At all times!”_ she called hastily at him as she hurried out of reach toward the person who called for her.

Cauthrien.  Of course she’ll try to take on the most powerful person, because she’s too stubborn to think she needs any help.  Maybe if he catches Cauthrien of guard, he could cut her stubby fingers off in hopes that the ring would come off with them.  He did mention this quietly to Alistair the day they came back.

He walked down the hallway, knowing exactly where Alistair would be.  Take a left here, and here we go.  The armory!

He swung the door open to find Alistair snapping on his royal armor in place.

“Zevran!  …You weren’t standing there the whole time, were you?”  Alistair began, his face blushing brightly.

“No, I did not have the pleasure of seeing anything other than you in your royal accessories.  Please, do not let me stop you from further preparation, my king.”

The king looked at him warily before picking up his sword and sliding it in place by his waist.

“Just for my own sake, I'll believe you,” he frowned nervously.  Zevran sighed and paced around the room.  It will pass the time before the king is ready.

“Seems like your still having some trouble with Abby, I take it?”

 _Excuse me?_ Zevran thought, initially startled by Alistair’s sudden question.

“Alistair, don’t you know?  She’s just as in love with me as before,” he sang, unwilling to share his troubles with this dimwit.  He doesn’t need to let him know, once Alistair was his competition, sharing his doubts with him would probably invite him to make a move.  Or maybe not.  He _is_ Alistair, after all.

Alistair pursed his lips at him and frowned.  “Didn’t seem that way when you came back from Highever.  Actually, she looked a little mad at you.”

“Ah, and there lies the beauty.  Behind closed doors, she’s more open to show affection.  I would tell you more, but I don’t think that would sit too well with her,” he continued to bluff easily, letting the words spill from his mouth and smoothly as water.  “Your concern is warming, but unnecessary.”

“Suuuure,” Alistair muttered, deciding finally to leave it be.  He’s not the kind to pry.

Zevran took the time to take advantage of the armory.  Normally, he’d shrug and say something like “My blades are enough to keep me alive.”  But that was back in Antiva, and his blades are _not_ enough to keep him feeling invincible, as demonstrated by his exquisite friends, Elias and Millicent.  He pulled yellow colored leather armor over himself with ease, doing absolutely everything he can to avoid looking at the large healed scar he has on his bicep.  He can still hear the slice her dagger made upon breaking his skin.  Oh well, he’s had worse.  Just not while he was in charge in Antiva.

“Well, Alistair?  Are you ready to defend your kingdom?” he asked, pulling his yellow braids back to keep his hair out his face.

Alistair looked at him in an “Are-you-crazy?” sort of way.  “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” 

“My advice, don’t get killed.”

“Gee, thanks, because I’ve never thought of that before…”

Zevran felt his trademark grin curl on his face.  In some ways, Alistair and Arabelle are very alike. 

“Very well.  We should get going, friend.  The battle will start before you, even if you are king.”

Alistair twitched slightly, when Zevran called him King.  Still not used to it, Zev supposed.  Still itching to be in the center of combat.  Too bad.

“I’m king, dammit!  I will do as I please.  If I want to fight outside, then I have the right to do it,” Alistair raised his voice, as if right on cue.  Had he read his mind?  “I’m not going to let Abby protect me, she’s not my mother.”

He stomped out the armory, with only Zevran to follow him.  Arabelle would be angry with him if she knew he let Alistair do as he pleased, but what’s he going to do?  The guy’s the king.

Outside the palace, he heard the violent _clings_ and _clanks_ of swords catching one another, the swords reflecting the sun’s cloudy dawning.  The army had already passed the city gates?  Where’s Arabelle?

His eyes frantically searched for her familiar black bun, completely forgetting about protecting Alistair, who was already running toward battle.

“Alistair!” he anxiously called, sprinting to catch up.  Alistair brought his sword down on one traitor’s head, then turning quickly to use his shield to block a failed sneak attack another soldier attempted.

His fingers pulsed in exhilaration, adrenaline finally kicking in.  Before the helmeted knight could smack Alistair’s shield out of his hand, Zevran jumped from the ground, backstabbing the man.  Alistair, no longer bearing the face of an innocent king, glanced at him gratefully, then continued to flank the others.  _Cling!_ _Clank!_

Where is she?

Suddenly, he snapped his head at an abrupt bellow from behind him.  He swiftly sidestepped an incoming soldier, thrusting his dagger in the man’s neck as the man rushed to him foolishly, and turned to see a small figure at the front of the palace, blowing in a horn bigger than her face.

Denerim knights and soldiers poured from every direction, quickly engaging those from Highever, immediately taking their focus from the king and instead to their own lives.

Arabelle threw the horn at a nearby traitor’s head after saying something to an elderly woman-Wynne-and whacked him with her staff, the mere touch of it and he froze, literally.  A familiar childish beam spread across her face.

He couldn’t help but smile.  The city gate guards?  There never were any.  She pulled this from her magical sleeve, knowing that Alistair would snap and head for the nearest fight.  Before long, there were barely any traitors left, and any remaining were facing their deaths.  Now back to-

 _Slice._  

Immediately, he fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding wound before warning Alistair he was down.  Who had taken him down?

He saw a flash of silver and black before he was consumed by darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

She had been at the center, boiling her enemies inside out.  Everything was fine and dandy, yes siree, until she heard the pained “Alistair!”

She whipped around, crashing to the ground to dodge yet another soldier jumping at her.  She didn’t have to worry about killing him, he’d run right into a militiaman’s erect sword. 

 _Where is he?!_

Alistair was fighting valiantly; she almost forgot how heroic he could be back when they fought in the Blight.  He was fine, but she was searching for someone else.  Where was he, now that she was actually searching for him?

Her eyes darted to the bleeding body _Alistair_ was protecting. 

She gasped.  Was that him?  She couldn’t see the body’s back move up and down.  Stiff, just like when Taliesin attacked them.  Who did this?

She was helmetless, distinguishing her from the rest of the soldiers she commanded, and she was attacking Alistair.  Cauthrien.  She did this to Zevran. 

Her blood boiled in rage, how dare she?! 

“Cauthrien!” she called, making her avert her attention away from Alistair, who was occupied in killing the soldiers heading for him.  Arabelle gave him a look, silently mouthing “protect _yourself_.”  Saying those very words, she wanted to kill herself.  She’d rather Alistair be struck than Zevran.  But she’d never admit that.

Cauthrien boldly dropped the sword she held, instead reaching for the massive blade attached to her back.  It slid carefully from its sheath, Cauthrien’s challenging eyes piercing at Arabelle.  This is it, the final showdown. 

She slowly walked away from Alistair, ignoring any attacking soldiers, allowing them instead to kill her own.  So focused, so serious.  Arabelle wanted to laugh at her pathetic dramatization, but her mind shot back to Zevran, and she too was focused.  Revenge.

“Your bastard king will fall today.  You could be Anora’s ally, I could let you live, you could protect Ferelden by helping its true queen,” Cauthrien firmly said.  Did she honestly think Arabelle would drop everything and join them?  Did she think Arabelle had no sense of loyalty?

“I hope you’re kidding,” she sneered at her, her eyes searching for the ring.  There it was, the brown square dwarven ring squeezing her ring finger.  Dwarves were famous for being immune to magic, so she was left powerless in the presence of Cauthrien.  _Let’s just say it makes a person harder to kill, on any level._

“Are you sure?  You will have a place amongst heroes,” she chided, as if speaking to a child.  Arabelle carefully slid her staff back into its place, and reached for a sword left by a dying soldier without taking her eyes off Cauthrien.

“I’m pretty sure.  I can’t be allies with the person who just killed my-…The person who’s boot-licking the bitch would-be queen.”

Cauthrien’s face twisted in fury and charged at Arabelle, shouting out her battle cry.  Arabelle took in a quick breathe and dodged her, using her time to extend her heat onto the sword, letting the flame completely engulf it.  Cauthrien laughed.

“You’re no good with swords, mage.”

 _Says the bitch who just **missed** me. _

“Are you going to teach me?” she mocked.  Cauthrien lunged at her again, and this time Arabelle let instinct overwhelm her.  She brought up her sword, blocking Cauthrien’s attack, but staggered by her force.  She spun behind Cauthrien and kicked her back, causing Cauthrien to trip forward.

“Agh!” she shouted, turning again to face Arabelle, who did nothing to hide her silly smirk.  It died as soon as Cauthrien chuckled, taunting her by mentioning Zevran.

“Let me guess, Warden.  The elf man over there was your lover, correct?  I singled him out, you know. I didn’t recognize him at Highever, but this time, I made sure he wouldn’t sneak into our hideout in the future.”

Her hands twitched, a quick fantasy of squeezing the life out of Cauthrien.  “What would possibly make you think you _have_ a future?  Let me guess, Cauthrien.  You think you have a future with Anora, do you?”  She scoffed.  “Anora will never appreciate you the way you do her.”

Cauthrien glared at her. “She appreciates me,” she reassured herself.

The human swung her blade at Arabelle, who jumped out the way, falling to the ground.  Cauthrien rushed over, taking advantage of Arabelle’s situation, and brought her sword down hard on her, who rolled away just in time.  Springing to her feet, she snatched her dagger from her boot and threw it at Cauthrien, who was still trying to pull her sword from the dirt ground.

It hit her neck, and Cauthrien fell the ground. 

Arabelle sighed.  Now all she needed to do was get Anora.

“You forgot your pitiful knife, kitchen elf.”

She stopped in her tracks, and turned around to find Cauthrien pulling the dagger out of her neck with ease.

 _On any level._

“Crap.”

She charged at her, readying her fiery sword.  Guillotine?  No, thank you. 

Cauthrien ducked, and used her strength to pull her massive sword from the ground.

 _Damn_.

She quickly planted her feet in the ground to stop her velocity, and spun around to block Cauthrien’s impending attack.  She was too strong for her, and her sword slipped from her hand.  Cauthrien swung again, and she ducked, extending her leg to knock Cauthrien down, she too dropping her sword.  Arabelle reached for Cauthrien’s sword as she fell, rose and brought it down _hard_ on her fingers.

Cauthrien screeched, twitching her hand in excruciating pain.  She reached for Arabelle’s dagger, and plunged it deep into her thigh.

It was like fire was eating away at her muscle, the wound making her more aware of her senses.  She limped away with ring in hand, trying to ignore the screaming pain, trying to resist screaming out.  No weakness.

Slipping the ring on herself, the fire slowly faded, and she bounced back at Cauthrien with Cauthrien’s bigger-than-herself sword and stabbed the living hell out of Cauthrien with one cruel thrust.

No gurgle, no last words.  Nothing.  Finally, that was the end of Cauthrien. 

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

“Abby!” Alistair called, killing off the last few soldiers coming at him.  The urgency in his voice made her rush over faster than she usually would.  Zevran may not be gone, but in case he was, she still had a duty to Alistair.

“Abby, where’s Anora?”

Her heart fell.  His face softened, finally thinking of Zevran.  “He’s not dead, Wynne took care of him.”

She dropped her eyes at the ground from where he fell, he was no longer there.  Relief pulsed through her.  This nightmare wasn’t as horrible as she thought then.

Back to Anora.  “You didn’t find her here?”

“No, I figured she’d be with Cauthrien,” he said, worry instigating the brief wrinkles on his forehead as he frowned.

“She’s dead.  Finally,” she said, quieting his concern.  She held up her finger to reveal the dwarven ring. 

“You cut off her fingers, didn’t you?”

Arabelle slipped off the ring and handed it to Alistair. “Take it, in case Anora pops out of nowhere and stabs you, like the little backstabber she is.”

He took it, and motioned her to follow him.  They snuck away from the battle ground and entered the palace through the secret door in the kitchen. 

“Wait here,” he whispered, leaving her at the door.  His armor kept him from being anything but silent, the steel rubbing and _clinking_ as he checked the pantries.

“What are you doing?”

He turned his head at her, and shut the pantries, smiling innocently as if she caught him doing something naughty.

“Were you just checking to see if you still had cheese?”

“….No,” he lied, and continued to the door leading to the dining room.  As they entered the room, Wynne greeted them.

“Arabelle, Alistair.  Good, you’re safe.  Have you found Anora?”

The petite woman looked around the room, and found that Wynne found a use for the long table.  The rich mahogany table was sliced in at least 10 pieces, allowing Wynne to use them as “beds” to care for the fallen.  Among them, Arabelle’s eyes found familiar blond hair, only messy, braids out of place.

Her eyes darted back to Wynne, who read her mind and said “He’ll be fine.”

Alistair whispered something to Wynne, and headed back out through the kitchen.  Arabelle walked over to Zevran’s side, brushing his braids out of his face.  Tears threatened to pour down her face, but she blinked them away.  Tears of joy!  She was glad he was still alive.  Ecstatic! 

“Arabelle,” he mumbled, moaning from his healing pain.  Her hand found his sliced stomach, distorting the lean muscles there.  She watched as the cells of the deep wound slowly joined back together, blood no longer pulsing out of the hole.

“Hmm?” she answered, grabbing a nearby cloth to tie around his wound.

He coughed, and didn’t say anything, closing his eyes tightly.  She didn’t say anything either, and silently lifted him slightly to slide the cloth underneath him.  After tying it, she looked at Wynne and said “Take care of him,” before leaving to find Anora.

Outside, the sun was no longer visible.  It hid behind the crying gray clouds, washing away the blood stained grass.  She searched the diminishing mob of soldiers, Alistair nowhere to be found.  Now that he has the ring on, she need not worry about him.  The only thing she needed to worry about was…

Realization hit her when she saw the open entrance of the palace.

 _Oh no, Alistair!_

She rushed in without a second thought.  When he left the dining room, where did he go?  Where was Anora?  The grand hallway…would not please Wynne.  Broken ornaments, thrown over tables, windows shattered. 

“Alistair?” she whispered, not daring to raise her voice.  There was something about this room, she felt tension.  Might possibly be the fact that the place was trashed, but there was something more.  Anora was here.

“Argh!” someone grunted, followed by a swords skidding across the floor, then a _thud_.

“Alistair!” 

Ring or no, she _needed_ to find Alistair safe.  He was the king, the single most important man to Ferelden-and her friend.  Had she ever let one of her friends die?

She rushed by the staircase, and turned a corner, expecting to find him alone with Anora.  And there he was, on the floor, kicking another man as he reached for his sword.  She saw Anora slip away toward the dining room.  Coward.  Can she not even fight her own battles?

 _Stupid Anora, making my life harder than it already is._

She slammed her staff on the ground, immediately paralyzing the attacking soldier.  Alistair jumped back up, trusty sword in hand, and sliced the man’s throat without remorse.

“Where did Anora go?”

“This way,” she said, running toward the dining room.  Upon reaching the room, Alistair didn’t even have to challenge the woman, she was already knocked out on the floor. Zevran was hobbling over her, with a broken flower pot in his hands. Taken out by a cripple.  How pitiful.  The rest of their soldiers lifted up their heads from the tables all coughed out a “Hurrah!” and went back to being sick.

“Um, where’s Wynne?” Arabelle asked, wondering why Wynne wasn’t the one who took care of Anora.  Zevran dropped the flower pot and limped back to one of the tables, clutching the healing gap.

“She went out looking for more soldiers right before Queen Anora here thoughtlessly walks in here,” he manages.  Arabelle smiled at Alistair cheerfully, and says “What do you think would happen if Anora woke up next to a headless Cauthrien?”

Alistair rolls his eyes and laughs, and so does Zevran-weakly.  “What’s so funny?” Wynne asks, walking in with an injured fighter on her shoulder.  She looks directly at the floor where Anora lied, noticing the broken flower pot next to her head.  “I’m gone one minute, and Zevran already has a sleeping woman next to him.”


	13. Chapter 13

They had to do it.  It’s only fair.  She caused them problems and now she’s going to pay for it.  The mob in front of his palace withdrew upon seeing their unconscious leader at the mercy of the king, dropping their swords in defeat.  Denerim’s soldiers kept pouring from every direction and took immediate action, commanding them the fall to their knees until their king made a final decision what to do with the traitors.

He gave Arabelle full permission to do what she pleased, knowing already what she had on her mind.  So they waited for the bloodcurdling scream as they stood outside the dungeon, snickering in anticipation.  Anora didn’t fail to deliver.

Afterwards, Alistair went back into the palace to consult with Wynne what exactly to do with Anora and her followers.  “If you need me, I’ll be in my room,” Arabelle sighed.  _What a quick battle,_ she thought, _it didn’t take more than two days._

“Okay,” Alistair said, turning back to Wynne he quietly says, “Eamon told me that he’ll be arriving soon, he heard about this when the Bann of Dragon’s Peak told him about the women and children.”

The morning rain convinced her that staying inside would be a good idea.  So she lazily went up the stairs, drowsily searching for her room.  A nice long nap would be nice.  She’ll be fully awake by the time Eamon got there.

Two hours later, she found Eamon, Alistair, and Wynne discussing politics by the great hall fireplace.  Men rushed around them, cleaning and fixing and replacing the broken objects, hoping to score some points with the king since the servants were still gone.  Other men acted as guards, in case any enemies escaped and tries to pull a kamikaze attack.

“Alistair, I’m glad you handled this quite impressively.  I regret that I didn’t have enough time to get here before Anora’s poorly thought out civil war,” the Arl apologized.  “But we still have the matter of discussing her punishment, don’t we?  You have her in the dungeon, I hear?”

“Yes I do.  Oh, Abby, there you are!  Eamon, you remember Arabelle, right?”

Eamon turned his head and nodded in acknowledgment. “Of course.  How could I forget the Hero of Ferelden?  I’m not surprised you helped in this matter, in fact I’m grateful.”

“Thank you, and how are you doing, Arl Eamon? How is Connor?”

“I’m fine, and so is Connor, thank you for asking.  He’s doing well in his studies,” he smiled proudly.  “And back to Anora.  Have you decided what to do with her?”

“No he hasn’t.  Alistair,” Wynne said, “There are many decisions to choose from.  Anora is too ambitious to free.”

“I agree.  It’s either imprisonment or execution.  And we’ve already tried imprisonment,” Eamon said somberly.  Alistair’s brows furrowed together, clearly troubled.  Arabelle had a say in this, but was Alistair ready to make that sort of decision?

She looked at the cackling fire, how it grew, completely swallowing up the wood that fueled it.  It was a guilty decision, but it was for the best.  What if she were to escape again?  Knowing her, she’d learn from her past mistakes, and form an even bigger army at her disposal.  The fire cracked and popped.  She’d be like a fire, unstoppable unless no longer fueled by air…-or wood. Or splashed by water.

Analogies really weren’t her forte.

“Alistair,” she begins gently, “I think it’s be best if…Anora wasn’t in the picture anymore.”

Alistair looks up at her with that childish pout of his. “I…I think…you’re right.  You’re right,” he repeats with more assertion.

“Then it’s settled.  The sooner the better, Alistair,” Eamon says without hesitation.

“Right,” Alistair agrees.  A quick execution would be ideal, Anora’s only crime was vying for power, trying to take back what was once hers.  And what of Highever?  Arabelle turned to face Eamon to ask him this, but then noticed that he had more worry wrinkles than he had the last time she saw him.  She faced Alistair instead.

“What about Highever?”

Alistair’s royal blue eyes widened.  Looks like he wasn’t ready for that.

 _“I just got done making a hard decision about Anora.  Let’s just call it a day, shall we?  Bring on the feast,”_ she imagined him saying-she imagined _herself_ saying, were she in his place.

“Highever.  I don’t even know how those traitorous people live with themselves.  How did she ever acquire those lands, anyhow?” Eamon demanded.  One of the knights leaning against the wall took an immediate interest and took a bold step forward

“She inherited the lands from a thief and a murderer!”

They all peered over at him at once.

“Excuse me, but what did you say?” the old man said.  The knight took a step back for Eamon was a bit intimidating.  After one long stare-down, the knight removed his helmet.  A human.  He had russet colored hair, some stray locks swept his forehead and had matching colored eyes.  Well, at least she thought so, he had a most serious gaze that looked like midnight’s wrath had touched his eyes.  Arabelle thought he looked a bit familiar.

“Cousland.  Fergus Cousland? I heard your whole entire family was…I had no idea!  Forgive me.”

This Fergus, his eyes dropped once the word _family_ was mentioned.  Grief.  The face belonging to a father whose son died before his time.

“I’m the only Cousland left.  And those lands belong to me.  Howe murdered my family and stole our lands, claiming it was his.  I didn’t come forward before because I thought it was not safe.”

Wow.  The solution came so easily, she couldn’t have asked for anything simpler.

“Highever is yours for the taking,” Arabelle began, “Right, Alistair?”

The king nodded.

“Thank you.  I couldn’t have asked for more, your Highness,” he said after a moment, still thinking over what just happened.  “Warden,” he nodded.

“Alistair, can I have that ring back?” she yawned.  “It belongs to the dwarves, and I promised to bring it back.”

He took it off right when Wynne noticed Arabelle’s drooping eyes.

“Abby, you still look tired.  Why don’t you go back to your room?  I’ll have food brought to your room when you wake,” Wynne said kindly.  The grandmother inside her just can’t help nurturing children.  Or the people who act like them at times.

Arabelle nodded.  Back to her rooms, at once!

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Sleep will not claim her.  It doesn’t want her, so just stop whining. 

She lies in her bed, staring up at the ceiling.  Just thinking.  About Ferelden, about Alistair, about Anora, and Cauthrien.  How did this even start?  She thinks of Fort Drakon, of Antiva, and Orlais.  Zevran.

His name, she pushes from her mind.  She tosses herself onto her side, clutching her plush pillow close to her.  Her hair was wild, escaping the tight bun and falling on her face.  She brushes it back in annoyance.  She can remember her broken heart when she found him there, with _that girl_.  She can remember her disappointment.  She can remember his face, surprised and full of…sadness?  Disbelief, she clearly remembers. 

“Like if I was a ghost,” she mumbles to herself.  Sigh. 

“You were.”

She jumps from the bed to find Zevran silently closing the door of her chambers.  His stomach, healed, and he was looking more handsome than ever before.  But she was not going to throw herself at him.  That’s for lowly desperate women, she thinks.

“I’m sleeping,” she says, although she was already standing away from her bed, fully awake.  He chuckles softly.  “With who?” he arches his brow.

“Wow.  I…I’m not even going to answer that.  Goodnight.  I mean, good evening.  Have a pleasant day,” she says dryly. 

“We need to talk.”

“No, we need to sleep.  Here, I’ll start,” she nods, climbing back into her bed, faking a loud snore.

“Arabelle!” he says, with an angry bite to his tone.  Now would be the time to get up.  This conversation was coming sooner or later.  Sooner was better than later.  She throws the covers off her, and sits.  Her stare seemed to have scared the words out of his mouth, but after a moment, he begins.

“It’s been some time since we last talked about… _this_.  And I’d like…I have to talk about it now.  I’m no good at these conversations,” he hesitates, shaking his head.

 _Just get to it, already._

“When I went to Antiva, I-”

“Did you love her?” she interrupted.  His head shoots up.  “What happened?”

She decided that he would never say it unless she helped him.  Or provoked him. She seems to be doing that a lot lately.  And the girl was an excellent place to start.

“I killed her.”

She jolted back.  “What?”

His face was solemn, no jokes.  “It’s true.  I _hated_ her, for looking like you but being completely different.  And then she attacked me, before I left to come back to Ferelden.”

Is it true?  Zevran’s no liar, that’s for sure. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.  You never asked!  Did you honestly think for a minute that I’d leave you if I knew you were still alive?”

She went silent for a minute.  _Yes._

Thinking of the life Antiva offered him.  It practically threw women, ale, and riches at him, the things he’d jumped at when they were still enduring the Blight.  But the Blight was over now, things have changed.  He changed.  And so has she.  The question still burns in the back of her mind.  Sooner is better than later.

“Do you love me?”

This catches him off guard.  His eyes bulge from their sockets.  No, not really, but he really was stunned by her question.

“…Well,” he hesitates, his hands going into his pockets.  A few disappointing moments pass, and the frustration builds within her.

“Zevran, you come into my room, to tell me what, exactly?  You might have not loved her, but did you ever love me in the first place?  What am I, some sort of unattainable plaything?” she goes off.  “Oh, and another thing.  What about Erlina?  Don’t look at me like that, I saw the way she looked at you!”

“Are you,” he laughs in between, “-are you _jealous?_ ”

 _Oh for the love of-_

“Jealous?  Jealous?!”  she starts to yell, but tries to calm herself, and through her teeth she says angrily, “Jealous is not in my vocabulary.”

“Oh really? I know you were jealous, I could smell your lack of confidence.”

“That wasn’t my lack of confidence, that is the fact that you haven’t bathed in days.  You know what?  I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore.  Just get out,” she said, getting up from her bed.

“Are you going to make me?”

She raised her chin defensively, her size was just not intimidating enough.

“Fine, I’ll go.  Being kicked out of my own room, I can’t believe this,” she mumbles to herself, heading to the door.  “Step aside.”

Zevran let out a throaty laugh, and stepped directly in front of the door.  The expression on his face was the same from when they first met.  Confident, amused.  One little statement from her, and it would all fade away.  Like snow right next to a lit chimney.  But did she want that?  Did she want to keep hurting him?  Absolutely not, but she didn’t want to deal with him now.  Later is better than sooner.

She crosses her arms, not quite defiantly, and gave him a look that a mother would give to her child if he was doing something he shouldn’t be.  “What is it, Zevran?  What exactly is it than you’re trying to tell me?” she sighed.

His cocky grin faded away, regardless.  They stood like this for what seemed like a long time, just staring at each other.  And for a moment, she realized that she didn’t mind.  She didn’t mind having him here, with her.  The idea of it grew on her not long after Wynne sent him with her.  Good thinking, Wynne.  Now your cryptic reasons make sense.

“I…still have the earring,” he says quietly after a minute, pulling one of his hands out of his pockets.  Staring at the earring, she just wanted to explode.  She didn’t even realize her mouth was open until he cupped her chin, closing her mouth in the process, and moved a little closer to her.  Testing the waters. 

So fickle was she, in his arms, his hand brushing her curls from her face, sliding his hand down her jaw line, down her shoulder, and to her waist.  Ever so gently, he pulled her closer, closer, closer to him ensuring that she couldn’t escape.  She watched him dip his head, and closed her eyes before his skin touched hers.  Those rough lips, now tender, not with lust, but patience. 

“I am yours, _mi amora._ ”

Those simple words, however many times he’s said it before, that was enough for her.  He might not ever say the words she wanted to hear, but she knew.  Actions speak louder.  She kissed him again, before he smiles hesitantly and whispers “I need to know…if there’s a future.  With us.” 

Her hands were hugging his neck now, but instantly they paused, and she peered up at him.  No words could describe her shock as he continued.

“Take my earring.  Take it as a token of affection.”

Finally, she managed to say “This sounds…like a proposal.”

“Do you wish it to be?”

Fickle.  She missed him when he was gone, she still missed him when he came back.  When she was still playing her little game of ‘you can’t have me.’  At this very moment, she forgave him.  For leaving, for the girl, for Erlina.  For everything.  A life with him forever was never what she had in mind the day at Redcliffe.  But now that it was on the table, now that it was offered to her, such realizations hit her as hard as a fast coming carriage.  But is it what he wants?

“Do you?”

“I’ll never leave your side, my Arabelle.”

She stared.  That’s all she did.  Like a doe-eyed child, she stared.  Feelings of passion and love tickled her stomach.  And she giggled.  She couldn’t help it.  And she laughed even more when he looked at her, in his confused way.

“What’s so funny?”

Her hands broke away from his neck to pull back towards her face.  An attempt to make herself stop.

“I’m feeling all tingly inside.  Thank you ever so much, Zev.”

Comprehension struck his face, and he released her from his grasp so he could roll his eyes.  Boy, did she love ruining a moment.  Still giggling, she took his hands in hers, and pulled him closer to her faster than you could say I’lltaketheearringnowshutup, and kissed him again, and again.

“I s’pose I could see you in my future,” she smiles, her eyes still closed from the lingering kisses.  “Because I am yours, too.  Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Any constructive criticism would be great, so feel free to speak up 'cause this is my first chapter story


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